I’m not good at this,
Sudden, silence always softens the blow.
But not really.
The fact is you don’t deserve my words
after you silenced my love
and pressed your cheek to my chest
and told her to stop the pounding.
And I’m sorry if my lighting is not to your standards
but in the dark I’m the brightest
so don’t blame your blindness for your bias
Because I don’t believe it.
I am not your accommodation,
your call girl, or yours anymore.
And maybe I have to fix this habit
of erasing people who leave lines anyway,
but I’d rather you lather and burn in this silence
Even if it cuts me deeper.
I already have stretch marks from carrying you so long,
It’s your turn to have scars.