saint jude, hoping

it rains, and it is sunny. this is who you are to me. i do not love you, and certain hours im unsure if i even like you. its a craving, like blades or brownies. picking petals and edges of calloused hands. i stare into the black hole cavity that is your mouth and i wonder how it speaks to me the way it does and what it would take to get you to take flesh into your teeth, what would make them sharpen. its a cruel fascination. i do not love you, and certain hours im sure i barely like you. i take note of what makes you tick. i wait for the bomb to go off and let the guilt seep into my skin, and maybe one day you will bleed me.

sometimes the worst thing you can do is say hello and forget to not hang on.