Close Enough To Bleed

 
I have always known.
Not all at once, not from the beginning
But in the way that your touches
always felt more like an apology
rather than adoration.

Still, I turned a blind eye.
The truth was a razor blade
held in close proximity to my wrist
and I wasn’t strong enough
nor brave enough yet
to either push it away
or let it slice right through my veins.

The space between your arms
were always warm,
and within that space
knowing and pretending 
were one and the same.
Lies can be so beautiful
you forget how much they hurt.