I wring my hands and rub my nose
desperately looking for somewhere to divert all my nervous energy.
I don't want to do this anymore.
I don't want to fight.
I don't want to talk to anyone who's not a professional because it feels like most don’t understand.
I don't want to feel like I'm a ship full of holes just waiting for that last tidal wave to finish me off.
Most of all, I don't want to think about how much I love you
because apparently that's only a version of you that surfaces when you're not being a tornado of self-destruction, extending your misery to anyone unfortunate enough to get close to you.