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"