I have more left to say
than I have things to do.
I can’t tell you to leave
if you don’t know how to move.
You’re a full glass,
spilling splurges of wine all over the floor.
I am tempted to clean your stains,
but we’ve been here before.
and I pull you back in.
and sometimes I forget how to swim.
If we learn to live without, we’ll be too overwhelmed by what we had
I am so fucking tired of being a stained rag: stuffed in a pocket, thrown onto the floor.
Try to swim for someone who blames you when they drown.
How nice it must be to break,