My wounds are sticky.

Gushing blood 

Leaks out of my body like ink.

I stuff cotton balls into the emptying space

Like

If I fill it with enough sweet nothings,

The red will cease

We soak in the pools of time and let them heal us.

These hot tubs of pain,

Memories of kicking and screaming.

This won’t matter in five years.

But we are in the now.

The now is like matter.

Unable to be created or destroyed.

You once told me,

You wished I could love myself one day.

Like I hadn’t been taught to scoff at my

Cellulite,

Bulging thighs,

Fat arms,

Skin I wish

I could take a knife to and filet.

You once told me,

You wished I were gone long enough to leave you alone.

Like

I hadn’t been waiting for the other foot to drop anyways. 

There has always been something

So beautiful in your steady hands

Being the same hands that

Push me to my

End.