who keeps truths in my lungs
so I choke before I confess.
Though I’m not too far gone to believe he wasn’t real.
I only wanted to smother reality until it died.
But it didn’t.
That night happened.
He happened.
The hands,
the kiss,
the whispers,
the fucking breathing,
how he felt in my hands.
It’s 8:47—again.
And my heart does that thing—again.
When the minute clicks over,
and it slams—again.
Every fucking day for the last eighteen.
This time,
I feel it on the sidewalk on the way to Type.
That stupid place, pulling me—again.
Because it hates me. It wants to punish me.
But—
Okay, okay.Fine.
That was a lie.
I’m not being pulled.
I’m choosing to go this time.
Willingly.
Stupidly.
Because I hate me.
I want to punish me.
