I Swear I've Spent Half My Life Hiding In Bathrooms Arguing With Myself

We do not so much fall in love as we do into desperation.
While I am collapsing in on myself on the bathroom floor
trying to keep my own hands

from tearing me apart

you are tapping on the other side of the door,
whispering “It’s okay, please come out now.”

I am thinking about the way
you licked the lust off of my tongue

and it makes me sick.
I am thinking about the way
your fingers tightened around my throat
when I told you “I’ve never done anything like this before”
and I would give anything
to have the ability to rewind time,

go back to the moment before
I read your message, 

before I hit REPLY, 

before you drowned me 

in the delicious prose of your own sorrow,
before you unraveled my apathy 

with your bare hands 

and forced me to swallow it whole.
I am staring at my face in this dirty mirror
and I am drawing exes over my eyes
in the dust and the toothpaste splatter.
I am waiting for you to just give up.

I am waiting for you to leave me alone.

I am waiting for myself to gather the courage

to wash the tear-streaked makeup off of my face
and open the door,
walk away,

don’t say anything,
escape