when i think of myself, i always think of folding ;
hands pressing together,
whole constellations consumed in the night sky,
never finding the end of my thoughts.
i never intended this to be a confession ;
but when i have two worlds in my hands
i choose emptiness.
this is how i can get away from it.
when i love someone, it’s always
the one behind the gun,
the one who pulls the trigger.
it’s always me who hands the bullets.
there is so much light beneath,
it makes my spine throbe and bend ;
just not enough to enter someone’s bones
and finally stay.