I hate to admit it, but there’s so much of me that I get from you. All the parts of me that don’t seem to make sense, stem from every bit of you. The way nothing sticks, the way my energy waivers, the way I look for the answer to everything in anything.
Every lost part, every part searching for more or something else. My blood tries to tell me stories I’ve never heard and all of them have to do with you.
If I could tear apart my DNA and pick you out of every inch of it, I would.
You’re like a disease swimming in my blood, resting in the marrow of my bones waiting for creaks to open so you can whisper your name through me.
Why do you have to be so lost? Why did you have to give me those parts?