Love me like that

Bit of a vent idk

The words spill out of my mouth like tar--"I love you", I say, despite every bone in my body aching with the truth and my tongue stammering out the falsity. Each thing I say crushes me further and further into the pavement. Love is a hopeless cry to the endless nothing, a brutal waste of existence, yet humans are so built for it. Why are my scarred hands curved, if not to fit perfectly against your hips? Why must my calloused fingers rest uneasy and alone, when they itch to lace with yours? With each passing moment, I whine and beg for your attention, as a puppy left for weeks on end. Love is pathetic and hopeless, and I do not love--I plead and cry and fall to my knees. I let the sorrow shadow over my guilty, wrecked form as I cling to your calves. "Please, don't go," I grovel helplessly, blathering at your feet about how you must not leave me alone, to be feasted on by hawks, how you must keep me safe and adore me as much as I adore you. And the sound of footsteps, the distance between us, the pound of my heart as you walk away for good. It disgusts me. I do not stand, for the weight placed mercilessly on my spine by whom I saw as an angel sits heavily. I do not even attempt--I stay, enduring the pain and feeling my body grow weak. Kneeling on the hard concrete, rocks digging into the gentle, warm flesh of my knees, solid ground feeling almost like quicksand. I solicit the pain, the suffering, the eventual acceptance. And I wait like a dog. Like a puppy, beaten with newspaper, tied to a pole far out of town. Because I know you will come back. Somebody will. I will not be long alone.