scarlet bedsheets and glazed eyes (II)

sometimes, i am inviting of sorrow.

at the end of the day, she is my only guest.

i let her pass the threshold of my door

and allow her to make herself at home.

we’ll sit down at opposite sides of the table.

i’ll let my head hang low and my back slouch

when she picks me apart like snow-white cotton.

at the end of the day, i’ll let her berate me.

i cannot fight back.

i cannot bare my teeth.

my claws have been clipped.

can you truly survive in a world,

where the only hands you ever hold

are those of rejection?

if the cure to human loneliness is self-destruction

then i am a bomb, ready to explode.