Saturday, August 27, 2022

The Infection

I’ll let you know when I’ve decided I’m done wasting my time and yours
Until then, our bones twist around each other like a sick hamartoma   
Half your good intentions and the other half, my hope you don’t have any
This close separation
The sensation of being close enough to touch but so far from ever being able to feel
I can’t say why it has to be this way, I would tell you if I knew
Why I can never sleep soundly in the arms of someone I would ever love
Why I keep putting band-aids on the infection

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