Knocking at my chest from the inside.
But there is nowhere to go or escape.
There is no vessel to pour you into.
I cannot pickle you and put you on a shelf.
You do not go away even when I beg.
You wake me up knocking from the inside.
‘Wake up’ – you say.
To an empty room and an empty world.
How could a tender feeling bruise?
It claws sometimes.
Trying to escape.
But I have nowhere to put you.
You live inside.
We are both prisoners.
Inside out and outside in.
Locked in agony.
Cruel in its tenderness.
How can love be a feeling?