the inevitable

*twenty-eight

trapped.
every word slipping through my lips seems wrong.
are you hiding the pieces
or am I just losing them?
my arms are so full of hope
it's overbearingly heavy.
you wipe the sweat from my brow
your hands are free
there's other things you have to hold, you say,
but I hear the blocks you stack in my arms
am I being selfish? Maybe.
My arms hurt, but anything for you.
My eyes are sore but I still coax
that knife out from your fingertips.
its jet black angle so seemingly sharp,
mocking me with the way it shines.
Fight for me as hard as I fight for you.
Why is it so easy for you to let go of everything?
Where is you initiative, your drive?
Am I not enough to fight for?
To give everything for?
All of these words being written
just as clear as day
but my vision skips and it all goes dark
and I end up where I always was
on my knees for you
bruised and scraped
looking at something
that will always never be mine.
Like grasping at the nicotine scented smoke
twirling around me,
but dissipating at the touch.
Your sting lingers,
but you're nowhere to be found.
It's funny how there's so much to pull apart
when you've given me nothing in the first place
Your promises echo as the air is filled
with the bitter scent of familiar uncertainty.