Minimum

Question:
Do you love me?
(At least,
that's what I write down my arms
on cloudy days.)

You never seem to have the words
to write back in reply.

Talking to you has become a game
of how long I can hold onto
my morals and my
self.
You give me about five seconds
to open my eyes
before I'm thrust beneath another wave.

You're like nails on a blackboard.
(Hurting me)

And I suppose
that's all
I have
to say.