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Sorry my heart is cracked, sorry I let go and called it an accident. Sorry I gave you to others just to push you out on the porch. It's been stormy here for awhile and my heart is still out there rusting away. I can feel how cold it is feeling you ache hurts what little compassion I have. I can hear your deep sigh with a wheeze that seems like you're in pain but still longing for my love. Visiting your unfilled grave not even when I want to, but I still go.
I'm so sorry that I ignored the flashes of red light and cries for shelter. Filled with regret as I watch the flood waters drag you down as it gets my socks wet. I'm on the roof now, I fished you out with my shoelace, thank God you're a strong swimmer. Waiting for a rescue, seems like this moment of stale silence has filled the air, turning this brief pause in time into a dystopia without hope. We both have something to say, but I'm too scared to listen. It's funny how things are said out loud and they become alive. Whoever said sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me was clearly an idiot. These silent dances of dialogue that aren't happening have hurt me the most.
I'm begging my body to scream, cry, vomit, and put my knuckles through a wall hoping my bones will break all at once. Yet I just stand still, I wonder if you feel the same? I mean we both know I'm too stubborn to ask though. I'm not sure why I am like this, but thank you for pumping my blood through my veins despite it all.
Asking for forgiveness has become ritualistic and with that, I still don't feel sorry for a lot of things. Putting you in a locked box in the dark corner of my closet is a weekly occurrence even though I justify it by giving you the key to getting out. It hurts your knees to crawl across the floor back to me doesn't it? Why do you always come back to me?
It's upsetting that I bought into the practice of "We hurt the ones we love." You always love me, especially when I only love you sometimes. Sorry that I get distracted by false promises, I know they're broken from the beginning, but I always pretend they're more appealing. With a golden bow under a naked tree just as skeletal as the ones in a sinners closet. If I were you I would have left me with my shitty attitude a long time ago.
I'm sorry that this is the most dysfunctional relationship anyone could possibly have. Why the fuck do you still love me? I will never understand why you keep coming back to fix the leaky roof. We know that I purposely tear apart the patchwork each time, it will always be very kind of you.
I'm sorry that I hurt you, blame you for it and don't realize it until I'm crying myself to sleep, and yet you cry with me. You don't have to do that, but knowing you do despite it all brings somewhat of a static comfort. I still find myself falling down the stairs to witness my limbs bleeding and scream the pain towards you. You're really the one that has taken the beating and you never once have asked me to feel sorry for you. I'm sorry I treat that more like a superstition than the truth. Even when I say I truly believe it, the belief sinks to the bottom of every "I know" ever spoken beyond a liars lips.
Placing you in a water bottle reminding myself to drink it then leaving it in the car to get hot and thrown out later that month. It's something that's vital to life, living water, but we just end up pouring it out on the weeds in the cracks of the curb. Treating you more like a lifeguard than an actual savior is only going to end my life quicker. You had to pull me from the cliff when I tried to throw myself off. I never allowed you to tell me life is worth more than good books and boyfriends that don't last. Time and time again you prove you won't abandon your promise.
You stay when I'm breathing tobacco through a filter from a crushed blue box I found in my denim jacket. Forgive me for rather not allowing myself to breathe than to be mended by you. It is such an easy answer, logically, it makes sense to be loved unconditionally and I'm sorry that I made you sign a contract for it anyway.