you must be like
waking up at 5am to pouring rain-whose melody is
sweet enough to hold you…somewhere between dreams and consciousness
(the soft vibration of an inhale…an exhale…in the dull quiet of the night)
or the sight of the tired sun’s dreary eyes
peering over the horizon
and soft sighs of the wind rustling through the leaves of trees,
across cold cheeks and eyelashes
but I don’t think you are any of those things because
talking to you is like falling into the ocean and when you leave I feel
like
sinking
…
you are a blade
pressing into my skin, harsh
biting
just to make an effect
(for some reason I’ve always taught myself to be vulnerable)
you are the blade I
drag across my skin (heavy)
on long nights
when I’m trapped in myself and there’s
nothing
else
to hold on
to