i am not your poetry. you will never save me from my burning buildings or make the rain stay in my clouds. you will spend your whole life trying so hard, my love— but i will come to your door every night anyway and the night terrors will too. when you wake up screaming i will tell you about your handprint on my ribcage, about how i just can't seem to scrub it off. beg you to scrub it off.
i'm sorry, sweetheart. i didn't mean to make you angry again. i'll just lay beside you wait till you say you have to stand guard by my heart, all night while the wolves howl. you say that's why you never sleep with me anymore. i will whisper back that i am a black hole meant to be a girl— you won't hear me.
i am not your cup of tea. i burn the things that try to touch me. why don’t you let me shatter? i leave the pieces of us broken on the floor for the dog to eat, because i'm tired— and it's two am and god, what's the point of picking it all up if we're just going to fall apart again?
