Darkness distills it somehow, this loss.
Hope is ready in the morning, but
Night time is for the pulse and pull of losing you.
Again.
Night is when I think I can not carry this,
I think I need you,
I think please come back to me.
Again.
I would erase you if I could.
I would delete it all.
I would remind myself to be smarter.
To say no to you.
To run.

I am coming to terms with the fact that He does not (did not) love me.
His cold denial leaves me without oxygen.
The purging of what is left of Him has me sick and bleeding, hollow and sharp. So similar to how He found me.

I forgot to leave a stronger wall.
Forgot to leave room for error.
Forgot about the suicidal tendencies of my stupid, stupid heart.

Are You just gone? Was this all been meaningless, soulless?
Was I so insignificant?
Is it possible that I could be so wrong again?

I don't know what my life is without You. I don't know where to find the joy.

I want to call, to say, "Love me. Just please please love me. Please say that I am enough."
But I won't. Of course I won't.

It was never supposed to be me.
You were never going to choose me.

It starts with ache and
Sharpens.
It ends with the letting go,
Blood following its expected path.

I should have kept counting.
Until his arm gave out or my skin split.
I should have taken it all.
No breath, no sound from me.
My skin should still be warm, bruises just starting to turn.

There is no safeword for my heart.
No stop, no way out.
No sleep, no strength left to dream.