confessions of a self-preservationist

i think i am a constant
sort of a shattered epilogue
of badly chosen lovers
with intentions purer than mine
who have willed my heart
to collapse into itself

i remember i used to fit perfectly
inside some of them
resting in crooks of arms
or inside folds of fatigued eyelids
i could quite happily choke up my lungs
in their amorous vapours

i wore them all like beautiful dresses
for an extended evening
sometimes they clung
sometimes they slacked
in drapes of black at my feet
and threaded me into the ground of their need

i tried to love them
but i am a series of chemical imbalances
contained between intervals of numbness
and cocooned in a hate
that was shredding my self-preservation
into ribbons

i held on regardless
held on until they bled out my name
i watched their sacrifices clot
into a vast wet ball of redness
that for a while subdued me
into a lover capable of reciprocation.