i knew i wouldn't love you. i knew exactly who you would be. and who i was. who i am. and yet had someone sat beside our faces as we kissed, they would swear it was true. swear with raging envy. every point against your lip. every tug behind your back. every sigh-soaked breath. i close my eyes and use you for this charade. erasing time and distance i wear this tumbling like a soothing scar. my heart swells and i am oscar-worthy. but mostly to myself. you touched me perfectly. and the only way to keep you from irritating me with your youth and unstable footing, was to cover your mouth. with my hand. with my tongue. with my breast. with my wordless promises. i promise i will become what i desire most. i promise i will raise you there to meet me. i promise i will unravel around you. i do not promise i will open my eyes.

you played me with precise strumming, i was stunned with the toxins of your earnest invasion. delighted with my own paralysis as you indulged in every single succulent second of me. you were a worthy bedmate, how i suffered you with feeling. feeling only me. only me. it is only ever me.

and i pull away on bullet trains confused at nothing except the jagged side of my heart. and again. and again. i fill it with subtraction. i can't do this anymore! i can do this any less! the act of becoming. in. to. solitude. i am. breaking.

sometimes it is all too much