I’m not sure what love is.
I’m just a lost girl with cigarette burns
on her heart and cavern eyes
deeper than the Mariana Trench.
I can feel every train that passes
on the tracks behind my house
at 11:12 pm and 12:33 am and 1:05 am;
I can feel them in my bones and I can
hear them in my head and
they’re begging me to go.
Maybe love is catching someone
at their worst and holding them back
no matter how hard they try to
tie themselves to the train tracks.