he asked me in a
somewhat polite way
at least for his manners
and well, I did not refuse,
how could I?
he will always be who he is.

so he sat on my chest
and he has been there for quite a while.
light as a feather in the beginning
heavier than anything I know,
right now.

and honey, I tried,
I fucking tried.
for as long as I could
I put up with it
without even complaining.

and he became more
and more comfortable.
and I became less
and less of myself.

whatever he asked from me
it was at that vulnerable layer
where nothing is to be asked,
nor even expressed.
it’s not in anyone’s right nor duties.

I wish this would stop,
that everyone stopped acting like
nothing’s wrong,
begging for forgiveness does not imply 
my power of absolution.
remission won’t even start.
honey, this is not my fight,
get your shit together.

as for me,
I am just waiting on an angel
to tell me how long will this hypoxia is gonna last,
‘cause you know,
I am not that aware of my own fucking limits.
as far as I know,
I’m just as flawed as you.