Invasive

We are our worst enemy.

The only time we get along is when the clothes come off. You hate conflict, so you run away from confrontation. “Can we talk?” triggers your PTSD, you remember everyone who called you enough but gave the love you deserved to the one who came after.

I say I want to fix this but you’re focused on where to touch to create some pleasure in between the pain. We are drifting, no longer anchored to one another and

I dislike who you make me have to be in order to survive loving you.