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by jana

your hands kept ending up around my throat

and somehow it made me feel held

some sick sense of safety

waiting for someone to suffocate my sadness

cut me open and watch it drain out

there’s this image in my mind of something shattering

it felt like a prophecy

but the water glass on your nightstand stayed whole

and I woke up to find it either half-empty or half-full

I can never tell which is which

and I don’t think I’m enough of a nihilist 

to let this go

how could I when I saw you and felt sick

like your hands were around my throat again

and this time your grip was too tight

made me choke down all these questions I carry around inside

like what were you thinking

when you whispered “oh god” over and over

into the half-dark room that night

or when you gave me that sad-eyed smile 

as I stepped into the light

it looked like pity

or an apology

but how could you have known

that something would break

did you see your hands on my body

and realize you were touching the untouchable

I felt you counting my scars with your fingertips

and I thought you understood

a note from the artist-

"this is something I wrote about feeling incredibly lonely and being willing to do anything for some kind of human connection and realizing that you are just hurting yourself"

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