i think it deserves to be worn more often

i.
your words were scalpels chiselling the raw marrow guarding my brittle bones. unwittingly i craved each siphoning sound as if a lullaby softly urging me to slumber- to transcend it all. i offered up the oxbows of my collarbones for you to carve, just for another teaser of your siren call. alas, all i got was whiskey poured in the hollows, and a drop of honey on my lips in return for my sorrows.
ii.
every schoolkid knows how a prism can transform a beam of light into the spectral colours of the rainbow, but now i’m learning that people are a different kind. humankind has the ability to fuck everything up and this is no exception. somehow we invented the reverse prism- a device that can diminish rainbows with a single glance, a solitary smirk, a soft hello. rammed down my throat as a life lesson I had to take, your name became the mnemonic for the destruction you left in your wake.
iii.
you were never gentle and i thanked you for it. to you i was the toy soldier rather than the fragile china doll. i was bathed in mud and conflict, with orders to self- destruct. so i clambered into your snare and claimed poison for warpaint, drawing nonsensical sigils across my eyes and lathering chlorine on my thighs. everyone else thought it was chemical warfare of a different sort, but we knew the truth, we knew you were my gallows and i’d come here to rot.
iv.
ambulance wails and police sirens are an echo that never seem to fade from this city, where crime is a teeming fungus. if i am a microcosm of my habitat, wracked and worn; you are the cancer growth- an untrustworthy thorn. but remission is something i hold myself accountable for.
v.
chbosky said we accept the love we think we deserve- but it’s more than a simplistic adage . often we know we deserve more, we deserve better, but it’s so fucking terrifying to shed your armour and ask for a battle, to will yourself to trespass your own guard and lay as if a sacrifice upon this defusing bomb. the ironclad mettle and ferocious courage needed in trusting this person to be able to match your pace, parry your blows and soldier your wounds as you would for them, is beyond what a dip in the styx could offer. that’s why it’s easier to accept the love we think deserves us- half hearted and subconsciously an albatross with the pain we can endure, rather than plague we injected. sometimes we need to safeguard ourselves by taking refuge in a noose.
—  REASONS I CROSS THE STREET WITHOUT LOOKING BOTH WAYS - SCHEHERAZADE