poetry

sorry

i'm sorry i'm a mess. awry and tangled. it seems i only ever go to you when i've fucked up. unfortunately, that's usually most of the time.

i'm sorry i'm depressed. it's a huge killjoy to have to coax me back from hysterics all the time. i know. 

i'm sorry you think i want attention. fuck, that's the last thing i want. i'd much rather blend in with the shadows than be out for all eyes to see. 

i'm sorry i'm triggering. it'd be better to sew my mouth shut to resolve ever telling you these things. i don't want to make you unhappy. i can't. 

i know i spew apologies too often, but you don't get the fact that i'm always sorry. for talking, for clinging, for fucking breathing. nothing you say will ever be enough to get me to not be guilty for things i've said. 

one thing i'm not sorry for, though, is living.

because with out, i would've missed out on the good times. your smile, your reassurance. fuck, you as a whole. even when you're tired of me and that love withers away to nothing, i'll still be strung up on you.

and i can't tell if that's a good thing.