a poem i wrote while remembering you on the train
and all i really want is to love, and to be loved
and to learn how to sip a thing from your mouth
besides blood—
stars, perhaps
but you are still craving the claw marks,
trying to coax the worst parts of me out,
as if they’ve been waiting only for your invitation
as if the inevitable were all concrete and bruised pavement
you look into my eyes and go searching for your monster,
but you find only my eyes,
and you hate me for it.
and then, again, i have to say that i am sorry—
sorry, that I cannot hurt you in a way
that will make you forget
sorry, that i’ve failed to kill you
in a way that you’ll stay dead
and again, these are only words
and no, they are never enough
you have always wanted me to be feral
while i have only ever prayed to be soft.
Other Recent Things
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