A penny for three of the words you have gave me,
my heart pounding in my chest,
mind racing at the idea.
      Drowning.

A nickel for all of the tears you have caused me,
both from smiles and from doubt,
eyes glazed with fear of you.
      Swallowing.

A dime for all the time you have bestowed to me,
in the day and in the night,
counting down from ten again.
      Breathing.

A quarter for all the warmth you have granted to me,
both in socks and in your love,
face heating at thoughts of you.
      Calming.

A dollar for all the things you have taught to me,
wreaking havoc on the mind,
an aging that knows no time.
      Screaming.

All the currency in the world wouldn’t be enough for you to stay,
But neither can I produce the funds to make you go away.
I have no insurance, nothing to give me aid.
I only have a dollar and forty-six cents to patch up the holes you have made.