Why do you do that? You ask me as I lock the door another seven-eight, nine, nine times. Why do you do that? And I wish I could answer you, but I’m repeating the words in my head over and over and it’s too late to tell you now because you’re not patient enough and you leave. Why do you do that? I’m holding the scissors and I’m crying and you tell me to stop but what you probably don’t understand is that I can’t. Why do you do that? I’m tapping my feet and I’m tapping them harder, harder, harder until I’m stomping and I start to cry because I don’t know. I just don’t know. But all I know is I have to. And maybe if you’ve ever had to do something with the threat of your sanity put on the line, you’d understand why I do that.
— poems ill never write