I have made up these long lists about all the things I wanted to tell you and all the things I could have said but didn’t, and I don’t know why I ever thought that knowing these things could be useful.
I don’t care about these words, I don’t care about these actions. They were never spoken or done, so why think of them? Why let these lists hold me back? Why let myself be anchored to the floor by nonexistent memories? It doesn’t make sense

You loved me in the dark with shaky hands and i handed over all the parts of me i was too scared to reveal to anyone else in the blink of an eye, so focused on giving you what you wanted that i forgot to ask myself what it means to cry out your name whenever you look at me like you’re poison and like we’re doing something we shouldn’t

i’ll never be able to give you what you want and you will never belong to me when the lights are on so i guess i’ll just have to settle for knowing that you can only love me when i hate myself

I love you but you’re poison