i want to get rid
of you like purple lipstick,
but you stick to me close
like dried blood from
when my open wounds
decided to make it rain,
free them.
i will shove you away,
far where it's impossible to
crawl back and replay every sin,
every utters of i forgive you
and rewind to i hate you's.
but when have i ever
learnt to let go— not when you
smother me with all the care
there is, not when you kiss
me soft butterflies. but,
this— us— we're wrong. no,
maybe you are wrong.
no, maybe if you didn't hurt me
me, lash out on me once
the alcohol ran through your veins
like a madman, hungry for host.
then, maybe. . . it's everyday i love you
instead of a mouthful of i'm sorry's.
maybe, some circus nights
and kisses in balconies.
love me. love me. love me.
no more.
