it's nights like these
where i can't stop thinking.
the thoughts wash over my
crumpled body;
slow at first and then
a torrential downpour.
maybe if i wasn't so impulsive
—so full of sharp edges and broken glass—
i could fix the chaos surrounding me.
maybe if my words weren't as acidic, maybe
if the thorns around my heart didn't
penetrate so deep, maybe
(just fucking maybe)
i could retrieve my former innocence.
but that's just not who i am anymore.
