do i see me like you know i see me in the eyes of what have been seen by mine and yours?

 

Hey there, Stranger. 

i shouldn’t be writing this.

the hour’s too late, 

3.25

the sky’s too tired.

but here i am, bleeding in ink again.

you always come back

when i am almost better —

when my hands are finally steady,

when my plate is finally full.

you watch.

you wait.

then you tip it all over,

laughing at the wreck you leave behind.

it’s sick, how much i missed you.

how i crave the high no one else can name,

the kind of rush they preach against

but never understand.

it’s not about more, not about less—

it’s about tighter.

smaller.

sharper.

a kind of disappearing that feels like power.

i know it’s wrong.

i know it’s a trick.

i know every surrender pulls me closer to a kind of grave

that looks a lot like a mirror.

but you whisper to me:

you are strong enough to vanish.

you are brave enough to stay hungry.

and god, some nights,

that sounds like love.

and some nights, my god, 

my thighs in the moon light, 

that looks like love.

the only freedom i ever felt

was when i chained myself to you,

and called it victory.

control.

control.

control.

until there’s nothing left to hold.

maybe that’s the point.