You are the blood running through my arteries
if I press my ears against the skin on my wrist hard enough
sometimes I can hear the ghost of your voice
But other times you are poison coursing through my veins
On such days, I struggle and choke on the words that spill out
Sometimes I wish I love myself as much as I love you
Sometimes, I wish I don’t have a heart

And I still have battle scars in the form of thick streaks
across my left arm.
I used to think they are beautiful, but I know better now
And it doesn’t make sense but I still paint them out in an unlined notebook
hoping fervently that I can exorcise them
But I don’t even believe in you, much less God
(and its ironic) but sometimes praying heals the wounds you aggravate

It doesn’t make sense.

And I look at the small, fading clusters of scars on my stomach,
hoping that dandelions or wildflowers will grow and take sleepless nights away
but barren ground is barren for a reason

I don’t make sense.

And I can small an impending storm Northwards and my house isn’t
hazard-proof. Storms come all the time, but I believed in you and it shouldn’t
be so bad. But late last nights ago, earthquakes split my ground in two.

I have nothing anymore.

Nothing makes sense.