letter-flesh torn apart

[branchlimbs]

on the typewriter that he gave me
"if i touch you everything will be ruined"
a love triangle, a love shape, blame on me
i did the right thing for once but the sky boils
just the same, again, again
i've gone and ruined everything.

too small, this room, this house
my lips are sealed with sores
wounds of aimless guilt, of which
you are the proud father and creator.
i am older now, and tired. older, and tired, now.

absence wrenches but is presence more stifling, long-term?
a question no one in love could answer.
life goes fine for a moment, always just one moment
and then they're back, irretrievable losses.
violence in my chest, foreign, unnatural, and much,
much larger than me. self-imposed
my subconscious has me pinned to the floor.

it's as if, if my heart breaks,
this will be the last time it breaks
and i will never again get up and get on;
i refuse.