To Do This


I don’t want to do this.
An invisible thread has anchored me to you
And no matter how I twist and turn to break free,
I’m tethered, stuck, held in place. Nothing I can do.

I know not to do this.
Empathising entirely with that moth that knows the pain
Of reaching over, and over, for that warm, glowing light
Only to be burnt, stung, yet drawn to try again.

I hate that I do this.
You have become my own, unique method of self-harm.
I can’t keep away. I can’t give you up.
No matter how much you injure and cause alarm.

Yet…you never asked me to do this.
So I wonder, repeatedly: why? Why am I still here?
You would have wandered by now, moved on.
So why can’t I up and leave, what is it that I fear?

I don’t know how to do this.

To Do This


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