sometimes i wake up and i hate me

how i see no cloud
coverage in my heart how my world
measures its own distance how
i do not have a hand worthy of measuring
the size of your heart
how to do so requires making a fist
fingers curl beneath my palm
why not yours why can't it
be you why can't i be you

i will be confessed to i will not be good about it
suddenly my heart sours it wants
you it does not want to break others it
does not want to break itself it cannot
possibly want anymore, that is
a game of fools