thorns

I feel like I’m suffocating.

  I can’t breathe with your hands in my chest

and your fingers tightening the vines around my lungs.

 

                 and now there’s a hole in my chest

                                  and I don’t know how to sew it up.

                                                   so I’ll pinch the skin with my fingers and try

                                                                                 not to spill on to your shoes.

 

I tried to warn you that I was full of thorns

and that your fingers would bleed 

but how can I put bandages on your wounds

if I’m already bleeding out?

 

           somehow I know that I’ll save you

                                              instead of myself.

because I would rather watch myself suffer over you.

and living with an infected you-shaped hole in my chest

probably won’t kill me as fast as I’d like.

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