Do not look for your way home by following the path laid in my bones.
My chest is not a cave for you to fall into,
exploring and stumbling,
lost without a red thread to follow home.
My mouth is not the deep sea meant for you,
there are ruins and creatures with small bodies and sharp teeth down there and they wont care.
They wont care that you are so soft,
that you let me have the last glass of wine,
that you light my cigarettes for me, and make me fruit plates in the afternoons.
When a woman tells you she is made out of jagged edges and warning signs you leave,
you leave and you don’t look back.
Not everything in life is a way out of the woods,
not your kisses, not my promises.