mother always told me not to fight fire with fire // why was i so surprised when we exploded?

my words did not meet yours with the intention of playing doctor

but oh,

how we tried to fix each other

when we ourselves were broken-rubbing twigs to spark a fire in the middle of a rainstorm-

we were heartbreakingly pathetic

i thought if i painted my hands blue, maybe i'd touch you where no one else could

maybe i could hold your heart when your hands were too shaky to grasp a single thought

but more often than not,

i was worthless

(you never forgot to remind me)

you said i knew nothing

as if i didn't know what black holes felt like

inside of my chest

(suffocating hurt less than everything you said)

as if i'd never felt everything

and nothing all at once

as if i hadn't traveled to hell and back by your side

(you weren't the only one who'd been burned by god)

was i your nothing

or was i something?

were the bruises we gave each other proportional to the scars we healed on one another?

we'd be doing ourselves a disservice if we refused to acknowledge both the pain and its passing

(and telling me i did nothing is involuntary manslaughter)

sometimes i wonder

if i've lost you

(but you'd forget about me even if i carved my name into your skin)

sometimes i think

it's for the best

maybe things would've been better

if i'd loved you less