4 a.m.

I believe that this is probably one of the most honest poems I've ever written.

four a.m. whispers in the dark
as i sit here clinging with all my strength
my hands feel small and weak
you swallow them.
its four a.m. and there's a blade against my skin
and a voice in my ear
and then there's a crushing of lips
and a tangle of limbs
and a heart pounding up to my throat
fighting to be released.
four a.m.
and i'm fighting to be released
and you're fighting to protect me.
but there's this blade in my hand
and if i let go, i might fall
unless i can hold on to you instead.
so i dig in with my nails and teeth and eyes and mouth and soul
and i squeeze my brain shut
and i say a quick prayer-
please let this be perfect.
please don't let this fail.
don't let me fail.
and there's this one moment
when my grip loosens just a little
and i think maybe - only maybe -
maybe i could let you go.
but my stomach starts to churn
and my hands start to shake.
and my eyes water and my heart jumps out of my body.
and i want to scream
but its four a.m.
and if i scream, i might wake up
so instead i kick the blade away from my feet
and one hand digs into your skin
while the other covers my mouth
and as my heart knocks harder against it
i tell you i'm sorry -
i'm sorry, i nearly fell.
and i would've taken you with me.
its four a.m. and the world says sleep
but instead -
instead i keep my eyes locked on yours
and i hold on to your skin and hair and voice and lips
and i think maybe it'll be okay.
as long as i don't let go.