She rips me to shreds when I can’t escape my bed,
holds my hands and shouts “Get up!”
Because I can’t miss “this”…
And “this?”
Something I will never know
when she drops her grip on my hands,
attaching instead to my lungs and heart.
My ribcage feels like it could burst if I even think of
opening my mouth.
So I stay silent and hope that the bell
inside my head doesn’t ring,
because I can’t stomach another blackout
crawling on the floor trying to rip out of my skin
desperately grasping her hands
so that I’m back in her arms again and she
can continue to rip into my already bleeding wounds.
