When did a body bag become more comfortable than your embrace?
Was it when we became the dining dead?
Was it when I had to ask you to show me kindness?
Was it when the softness of your arms became rough with rot?

I have become used to nosebleed seats and
falling asleep while the shower is running.
I hide myself away when I miss you most.
Enclosed in a closet full of cursive confessions,
I can miss you without judgement.

If I lay on my bed for a second longer, than I may drown.
I burn my throat and chase it with things that I cannot say.
I lost my favorite parts of myself by allowing you to stay.
Having left, I realized all of our mistakes.
Anger is a default for insecurity.

What if the difference between want and need?
Loving you has become a self-given punishment.
We are puzzle pieces bent from force.
If I could, I would write you as a riddle too complex to solve.

Featured art: “but i am safe in here” by Glen Martin Taylor.