I think it’s not for me
it’s for you, too, yeah?

it’s for the sickening drip in my veins
like syrup.
I want to throw up.

I forget that sometimes people
get torn up
I must, too.
I crave lots and lots and it’s a lost cause
because I forget to give
I’m sorry.
Let’s watch one fall into three.

I can’t flip switches
to things that make me most comfortable
when I’m burning out lights on either side.
Soon you’ll both be darkened.

I want to frost them over with my breath.
I want to freeze his flying home,
her angry red paints,
the vines of prose dripping from mouths.
I want them to be mine to unthaw as I need them.

I’m really sorry I don’t know how this works?
I haven’t had very good examples, maybe.
I know that leaving
or falling into bad habits
or subtle anger or fiery hands and yelling
and dagger words and loneliness
isn’t how others feel love
or show love.
I could get hit by a car.
(not a blue pinto, right? that’s not for me)

I feel bad and I want us to be warm a lot.
I need to say lots of things to lots of people-
I must have run out of stamps.

I don’t know when
“I love you”
became something I needed an answer to.