wishbone - richard siken

you ever think how richard siken wrote "i’ll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this bullet inside me cause i couldn’t make you love me and i’m tired of pulling your teeth" and “if you love me, henry, you don’t love me in a way i understand.” in the same poem about the pent up resentment of having to be the one that saves your partner over and over again? likeeeeee