It's right to back away but my heart is being pulled from my chest and a cold void is in its place.
I yearn to feel nothing, to see you as a cold and hardened sculpture.
To look upon you purely as beauty admired from afar without warmth.
Can I not walk away with only the memory of a cold surface and not the hope of your love, not the shredding and tearing within me?
Cut me from you, not with deafening silence but with your tongue, a sharpened knife, that I might finally fall away into the dark and die inside, my words to stop in the hollowness that will follow.