The Attic By Arianna Kyriacou
you always expected me to immediately get on my knees for you you are not something to be worshipped you are not a god i am not below you yet i know you are not capable of loving me without making me feel so small
so i tuck the way i feel about you into tattered cardboard boxes that sit thick with dust above the bed we spend far too much time on it rests dead, enclosed around brown walls and it’s damp and leaking onto the floor through the muddy print you left from your size twelve shoe sometimes it drips onto my torso while you are bruising my jaw and strangling my neck for fun
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