Pareidolia (3/3)

I can hear a wail and a howl and I know these voices both mine.
My lips quiver and my fingers stiffen,
and I'm not sure if I'd rather rip through my throat,
or yours first and then mine. I'm
sitting in a car at night under rain, waiting
for your message, "I'll be there," I messaged and
I can see your tiny body held under the moon, and
I can feel my throat tighten and I can feel
your small and warm hands cupping mine and lifting
my gaze until I've seen past your eyes and my
wrists are pinned by hands larger than mine,
my shirt open at night, your breathing on my skin, I'm
so sick of being so
twisted, at ease with my neck in your grip,
ready to give in, ready to take it in,
ready to scream, ready to cry, I
can't stand your reek! Can't stand standing here
waiting for your message, waiting to fall in love
waiting to rewrite this and waiting to decry this
until I crystallize and I'll reset this joke.
I'll apologize to the ghosts and give to the others
what I'll fail to know.

In the evening she comes back to me and holds me
and I become a child again, and there's no words
to describe the remorse and guilt of watching
this tiny little trusting thing in my hands loving
and holding me and believing in someone
so bent on crumbling.