Here it is again—
that pull, taut and hollow,
a vacancy in my chest,
reminding me:
I don’t know you.

Here I am again,
face in my palms,
hands in my hair.
It startles—
a knife, sharp and insistent.

And I wanted to ask you:
Do you exist like this too?
Is the tether binding me
also binding you?

Instead, I move—
put the coffee on,
try to forget—
minutes ago in bed,
curled inward.

I thought—
your hand on my back,
I thought—
I’d have more time
to know myself.
But the slats of light announce a new day.
A meeting—repulsion and love.
Who is right? Who has won?
Will I ever be the one in charge?

Is there a place we could come to know?
And will I ever learn:
Are you solace, savior, heart, self—
or threat, villain, a mirror to the dark?

All I know is—
in the soft morning light,
in the haze of possibility,
you come to me—steady, gentle.

And in the plunging depths of sleep,
in the moment I submit,
helpless,
you come to me.

Then—daylight.
The obstinate sun.
The dreadful clock.

You come to me—
now: devastation.

Teeth sinking in.
And I?
I am prey.
I am lost.
I am ruin.