I used to feel love so heavy
it made my teeth hurt, and my skin
pinch at the edges of my smile.
I sleep alone. I wake alone.
My body could never digest the thought
of satisfaction and not clinging to lions-turned-false-god
my wrists were thin to the breaking point
and I still couldn't say no. My lungs were cleaner then.
My room was not doused in regret
nor filled with empty corners where the paint doesn't peel.
I used to wake up and feel alive,
now all that's left is caffine and paperback books.















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