Sometimes I Can't Sleep Because of It

These wounds cannot be quiet.
They are gasping for air,
as you reach out with soft,
familiar hands.
Each tiny cut has been fed
on a diet of regret and sleepless hours.
And they vie for attention.

Water seeps through dark curtains.
I try to understand why lambs are sometimes
lions, and why lions are sometimes cowards.
Your fingers are parasites,
pressed into my cheeks,
reassuring me that nothing is certain.

I should have spoken up.
I shouldn't have let you run away
with my simplicity.
Like a child, I trusted you
to play fair.
It's not his fault.
It's not his fault.

Coax me across the lines.
I valued them far too much
to be enough.
We were just so hungry,
I let those borders fall away.
Prematurely, prematurely.
Empty and un-special hours
spent in the pitfall
of my convictions.

I know you couldn't see
how badly I was hurting.
It was something I shoved
to the back of my mouth.
I forgave you long ago for my weakness.
Yet you promised to never ask for
more than I was able to give.
I forgive you.


I should have spoken up.
I shouldn't have let you run away,
with my simplicity.
Like a child, I trusted you
to play fair.
It's not your fault.
It's not your fault.
I am ashamed.