I wanted to write something
that wasn't about you.
To remind myself,
that I don't think about you
or want you,
nearly as much as I think I do.
But I sat here for so long,
and all I realized,
was that I really do
want you,
as much as I think I do.


and it's this unexplained feeling,
the way you can open your skin,
and let the anger run from your veins,
fall to the floor in drops of sadness
that no one else understands.
It's numbing, and it's quiet,
but if the blood had a voice,
it would scream.

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