forty-eight

"give it a week," she says,
"and don't you dare come back a moment before"
there are things inside of us
that need to hide
and everything alive comes all at once
there is still more i wish were dead

"it will stay if you don't leave,"
she says, spinning me,
pushing me through the doorway
"if you give too much
you can't get it back"
and i want it back
i want it back

it's every part that dissatisfies you
it's every moment of silent hoping
for something more
it's every dial tone exploding
and every disconnection
that tears us apart
in more ways than one

it's that line between
everything you thought i was
and everything i'm turning out to be

the line between
everything i think i am
and everything you've seen in me

and i'm sorry
that things aren't what you expected
but i'm not sorry
i'm not fucking sorry
i'll never be sorry
for what i am