I can't help this mind of mine.
I can't tell if this is real or I only will it,
I can't tell if this is how it'll be,
or if you're just another force for me
to assess and ignore,
stress and deliver.
Because day after day all I get from you
I'll give you my entirety and still it feels like more,
You give me a glance and we both fall on the floor.
I rise each time
with a bloody knee, purple skin
(why are you okay with this?)
with a bite mark, ribs bent
(can you stop?)