covert siren
I Swore I’d Leave, But Here I Am
I told myself—
This is the last time.
But here I am,
standing at your door,
heart in hand,
knowing exactly how this goes.
I already know the ending,
but somehow, I keep flipping back to the first page.
I leave.
I swear I leave every time.
I pack the bags,
slam the doors,
walk away like it’s final.
But every road,
every back alley,
even the ones I’ve never walked before—
they all lead back here.
Back to you.
And you,
you stand there
the same way you always do—
like a lighthouse built on sharp rocks,
like something steady,
but dangerous if I get too close.
Your love?
It’s a knife disguised as comfort.
A one-sided blade I keep reaching for,
even though every touch
splits me open.
I try to let go—
God, I try.
But there’s something about the way
the pain feels like home,
like it’s better to hurt here
than be whole anywhere else.
I tell myself,
“Just walk away.
This time, stay gone.”
But I never listen.
And somehow, I’m always
back at your doorstep.
Palm out,
ready for the cut.
steep grail
marsh plover