when it runs out.
when the pain comes back
and I’m forced to reckon with the fact that
I’m not invincible
or even durable.
when I lose interest in you
and you lose interest in me right back.
when there no more secrets for me to reveal
and no more backstory to make me make sense.
when I’m back where I started. or worse:
when I see that I never really left.

it’s getting darker earlier
and I feel myself slipping.
I feel the real me in me somewhere,
fighting for space.
I haven’t been eating well
or sleeping well
or doing anything well
or even doing anything.
how many times must I learn the same lesson?
“as many times as it takes”.

you think I’m a whore,
that’s okay. I don’t care what you think about that.
I care about taking what I need from you
and not getting all consumed in the process.
like my first credit card, like a black hole.
like a deal with the devil.
full of empty, empty so sharp you’ll never
ever get to forget the feeling.

if you could find my weak spots you’d push on them
and I’d probably let you.
dig your thumbs into the round bruises
on the soft parts of my arms. I show you
the underbelly
and your only response is seeing just how
vulnerable it really is.
you’re a bit of a scientist that way
or a sadist. in pursuit of truth
or just pain. truth is often pain.

I would know that. me, the hoarder
of family secrets. me, the hoarder
of my own secrets. me, the amateur detective
(read: overthinker) ready to tell you
how and when the sky will fall.
and it will fall and
shatter like shrapnel.
bite all of us on the softest parts of our flesh.
I would know. about secret keeping
and equally
secret finding out.

when I can’t do the math.
when I can’t sleep.
when I stay up all night for no good reason.
when I’m hungry all the time again.
when I think I can fix myself (I can’t).
when I think I’m getting close
but I’m wrong. wrong wrong wrong.
out sync, behind, presyncope.
don’t tell me I can’t have something,
then I will do anything to get it.
I won’t be denied. I won’t be alone
(unless I want to be).
I will leave you behind if you make me.
I won’t let you see me cry. I won’t let you know
that I feel about it at all. it’s my gift
and it’s a cruse.
let me leave, let me leave now
so you don’t see what I do next.

when the shower gets cold
with me on floor
begging whoever for relief.
when there’s more begging, always begging,
always pretending I’m not.
when I want good things, that’s all.
but I don’t know how to deserve them.