Touch and take, and listen hard for all the words I cannot utter out in guttered breath and dying, dying soul-wrenched ache.

And know that I am wrong. That I am wrong, and done and empty.

That this has been over so many times.

You know.

You know I dance destruction, fire bright tears and strangled cries and shuddered fears.

You know me. You know me long and short and tall and in and out and all.

Faster – all steps away and first, and screaming out to let me go, but you hold on.

I am stranded, stuck with fear of standing still, of fading voices and the lights that dim and wane, of losing ground and anchor.

Finger grip that won’t unclench, but softly, softly take me,

Numb me, drug me under with chloroform of skin,

Keep me calm.

Try to mend what I have broken. What I will break. What I will always try to break because of nervous feet and fear of losing, fear of finding it’s not you,

Knowing that nothing is enough, that dreams are out of reach

Stand strong and take my blame; my curses spat at ghosts of real.

Know that this is sorry, this is trying; this is hate for all your pains.

Somehow I am happy.

This is my small praise,

Inadequate and whispered, for you

Only you, who I guard with armoured silence because you are too dear to let go; too precious to admit to:

You make me fail.