for the cuts that bleed to black

I didn’t mean to slip into your life
wearing the tarnish of childhood trauma
to fester in your memory
to be a pustule in your present
that you’re unable to incise

I did not mean
to become your disease
embittering you against me
I’m sorry

I only meant to love
I only hoped to be loved
But instead my presence is pain
My whispers, knives
My love is shattered glass
Slicing the fingers I touch
Embedding my slivers
Into the heart I would claim

for all of this
i truly am
Sorry