there’s blood on the walls
just as so soon there might be blood on these hands
crimson rivets of lifelines that run off the vertical
into pools at my feet, pools that the tears feed
pools that i drown in
there’s a fine line between crazy and unwell
but the line of hysteria is a hard one to miss
you stopped listening to the voice in my heart
(its over); you changed the frequency of your receiver.
whose fault it is, or who is angry stops mattering
who misses who, (its over) and not loving, not loved
just weaves itself into our beings.
wrenched dragged screaming
too tired to fight these binds
too scared to do or say anymore
everything changes in 3 months (where did you go?)