Thought.is

I’m sorry that I can’t learn from your mistakes,
That I’m too stubborn;
And dip my hand into boiling water
When I already know it’s going to burn.

What happens when you can’t even love yourself?

You shouldn’t be allowed to make me feel like this

Give me your pain
In the threads of your favorite shirt
That smell like sweat and musk and regret…
And a little like vanilla.

When you’re cut, I bleed. When you don’t eat, I starve. These are not words of sweetness or beautiful monogamy; this is a mutated cell that affects logical thought and choice.

Your memory rests in the shadows of my collarbone; you are dabbed like perfume
Behind the lobes of my ear, in the creases of my elbows, at the base of my neck.