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.