So maybe it’s me. It’s in the way that you flinch when I touch you. It’s in the way that I hold you to my chest like a dog holds a broken leg.
You keep telling me that all things must pass, but who are you really selling it to?
Now our apartment's empty. Now I can’t afford my drugs. I’m burning all of my clothes, and I’m selling everything that I own.
I’m sleeping next to your bed. I’m fasting myself clean again.
I can live alone. I can shave my head. I’ll warp out of focus, I’ll stay out of sight.
Your eyes sagged and dried since the last time that I saw you, tight when you asked me where I kept your time. If I could I would give it all back to you, all of it. As much as I could find since I lost track of it, but I’ve been sleeping in my car this week, and I’m tired.