[Sometimes Your Sweet Voice Flows Right Through the Hollow Me]

You will just tell me I'm wrong again.
That's good, huh?
Maybe for you.
One can't face everything all at once.

Maybe some things never, right?
We have to live,
we can't fight the part of ourselves we don't like.
I won't try to cut and kill my arms or lips
because, once (maybe more), my breakfast mixed with rape 
drug liquid regret
and a woman cried later that night realizing 
she saw me: a walking swollen fuck zombie
in a restaurant, a stranger not figuring out how or
why I barely stood up, to stumble away 
from my nervous rapist.

I feel like, Some Day,
I might die and never really know you,
never really feel my heart pump 
blood in the absence between us again.