Break me again
make me hurt just to remember
I'm not dead yet.

I walk on the thin line
between love and rejection
and all you can do
is dismiss my sentiments.

Ignored yet bruised,
I still wait for the day
you decide that everything's plausible,
that the idea of us doesn't make
you cringe.

Why do I still want
to hear how much
you like me when you're drunk?

Why do I torture
myself when I know
that no matter what
we'll always just be friends?

I feel shaky,
heavy, abused.
My lungs
are tied around
my heart in knots.
When I try to breathe
my heart is constricted,
concaving against the pressure.

Why do I do these things to myself?

You're my cosmic leech,
feeding off my reassurances
and my emotions
until I break for good.