I wish I could explain it
better than this breathless feeling
of running and grasping
both at the same time,

this feeling like
secondhand smoke
in the lungs
and in the eyes
and on my fingertips,

always creeping up on me
in bed at night
just as I am about to
fall asleep,
as my eyelids give in
and the rest goes silent,

shivers running through my wake
while your fingers run through my hair,
and I wonder why
I only feel nails,

why your skin
feels like
and your hands
like chains

It’s not you.

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