Carpet burns on my fingers,

my chest heaves-my stomach churns.

Each breath I take-and the air, in my gut, I can't shake,

it's the way my heart aches.

Any more-

I'm not sure of the decisions I make,

constantly aching my heart-breaks.

I don't know why I love you when I'm so afraid of you.

All I know is how carpet feels, when it's pushed against your face, that's when it's real.

And I know I'm alive, for my chest still swoops up after each of its dives.

I know my lips are getting chapped from the salt of my tears, I know I'm slowly drowning in all of my fears.

I hate the way my body is convulsing on the floor, what's worse is if you ask, I'll still open up that door.

I hate the way I love you, the way you paint this image of you,

your destroying me yourself and it no longer takes a belt.

You're whip lash is killing me,

Mom, if it's love be real with me.