I wonder where it is the line is drawn,
between loving someone when they need it – when they need you but cannot let you need them – and letting your love be
spent like money in a rich girl’s hands,
swallowed whole in one gasp,
threatening to leave you empty if you just give enough.
I wonder if you mean the words you say,
if they are the children of your secrets, spilling out between the masks you like to wear for fun.
Or if instead they are your particular breed of poison,
lingering on my skin with the promise to be fatal someday.
I wonder when you decided it was okay,
when busy became a reasonable excuse to leave me screaming,
when in my life I’ve only ever asked you for three days and yet two of them you have been too encompassed by yourself.
I wonder when it is I became nothing more than your sustenance,
your net to catch you if the moment comes when he lets you go,
and I wonder when it is I will become sick of this reductional role you’ve given me.
I wonder when you will be able to see through your own pain,
or rather when it is you will be willing.
I wonder when you will become my friend again and not a question I keep asking myself of how much damage my heart can take.
These are the things I wonder, anyway.