hands

Recently all we can manage to do is argue. I can’t complain; at least we’re talking. Days without you are days biting my nails. Petting my cat because if you were here, you’d do the same, and that’s as close to holding your hand as I can get. I want to know you. I want to feel your flesh against mine, your teeth in my palm. You build walls and point fingers like I’m not the one with bloodied fingertips from scratching at the bricks. Do porcupines ever get lonely? I really wouldn’t mind pain if I knew the quills came from an empathetic soul. You don’t get that. Maybe you don’t want to. Maybe you’d rather stay in your burrow. Maybe you don’t like the way my blood smells.

i wish you were a vampire
sincerely, freakie