chronic

two ends of the same tightrope

telephone-wire iv line

folié a duex or

something like that

kiss me against my sanity

i will tell you i love you

and that my teeth ache

it’s not blood

it’s just all my organs

we are sleeping with sepsis

pick my teeth from the floor

as i tell you i don’t know

how they got there

please delude yourself

believe all the things

you do not want to

when it comes to loving me

i will let you

i’m selfish

we are the liminal space

inbetween the wounds

i do not want you to fix this

and you will not like

the taste of medicine

untie the line

let me bleed novocaine

i will hold you anyway