this is going nowhere

I thought it was love —
so I spread my legs wide enough
that the skin cracked,
the blood rushing to fill the gaping tile floors.

I thought it was love —
so I let you climb atop me.
I fought for breath romantically.
After,
I looked at the mirror’s bloody nose seductively.

I thought it was love —
so I gave birth in the kitchen
and the baby was born
to the screaming of knives.

I thought it was love —
so I hung myself
and slit my wrists
and threw myself in front of a train.
Still, they did not bury me in a coffin.

I thought it was love —
so I let you carve our initials
into my chest.
Baby, you said.
You sway just like a willow tree.

I thought it was love —
so I went home.
I begged my mother to forgive me.
It all started with him,
I screamed.
My father.
And when she did not forgive me,
I broke a window.
I keyed her car.
I told her it was her fault, instead.

I thought it was love —
so I learned to be single.
I took molly before Hinge dates
and smoked tobacco rolled in your letters.

I thought it was love —
so I made love gently.
He petted my hair
and I told him it felt like
he did not love me enough.

I thought it was love —
so I called you.
It was love, right?
I breathed into the receiver.
No, you said,
but it’s too late —
I’ll do it again
and again
and again
and again.