3 am messes (a letter to my head)

i won't turn the light on, but neither will you.

you're crawling between the pages and i can't find it in myself to stop you.

you tell me there's a galaxy in my eyes before you press a nail into my heart.
you tell me that red shows more than black and white.

you tell me that the freckles on my shoulders are the constellations the night forgot,
but you watch me fall with the setting sun.

you're the reason i'm dragging this pen across the paper
until i forget where i end and the lines begin.

you tell me to be a forever in the ocean.
you tell me to be an ant in the world.

you call me cold,
you call me hard,
you call me a question no one cares enough to answer.

you tell me to laugh,
you tell me to smile,
you tell me to ask the question no one cares enough to answer.

weave yourself into my chest like a ribbon
and wrap around my heart,
because if it won't listen,
you can at least make sure it doesn't speak.

you always call it incoherent,
but it least it's never lied to me.

i want you to control my arms
my legs
my neck
my eyes
because at least this way i can pretend i'm telling you to.

the sidewalks keep cracking,
but you tell me to walk.


i know i can't save myself,

but i didn't ask you to, either.


--erin

(this page was actually written at three am, which explains the illegibility)