The Ruiners

A poem

The sound of my dreams cracking under the relentless weight of your insecurity feels like stolen breath.

I take small, shallow sips now, through my lips like a straw. The limited air makes me desperate.

I need to go outside. Take big, heaving unapologetic breaths, making good noise.

The sound of my dreams now has grown small.

You pick off pieces of them slowly and casually, as if doing me a favor.

Or as if you need them more than me, and can somehow crawl into them even when they don't fit you.

I have already said, I choose you.

An oath I meant to keep.

I did not understand that you chose something of me.