My walls are green
My bed is soft
My mind fractures
Your walls are blue
Your skin is warm
My mind is yours
The walls are gone
Our touches hurt
Our thoughts bleed out
You know, I’m nothing without my ghosts.
I have become a ghost myself, stealing into your dreams.
We play without touching;
I can see you as you are
And you forgive me for who I am.
This is loathing and love;
This is bloodless torture.
No one can see the gun to my head,
Pushed hard against my temple.
And I can’t see who holds it,
Though we walk through life in step,
But I can sometimes hear them crying
In the spaces between my breaths.
And when the gun begins to quake,
It’s fear that makes me pray
That my steadfast, spectral assassin
Can wait just one more day.
The worst nights are the best nights.
Nights where you’re at my side, where we are wicked and roguish, smiles sharing secrets, arm in arm, where it’s you and me against the world.
Nights where the heat of your skin warms me, where we move slow and sweet, your eyes on mine, battered hearts to bruised souls, where the universe dims and fades away.
The best nights are the worst nights.
When I wake, the connection is lost. The lifeline severed. I want to hang my head in my hands and weep until I drown. Without you, the world, in all its savagery, assaults me and the universe laughs because I exist, and you do not.
Let’s hide beneath the sheets;
Crisp, cool cotton
Cocoons our bodies’ heat.
Eyes closed, lips parted;
My breath for yours,
Yours for mine.
Twined limbs, selfish hands;
Quiet hearts, shared minds.
Let’s stowaway in stolen time.
Every time I close my eyes
I see you crying in the pouring rain.
All I want is to kiss your lips
And warm your hands in mine;
Give you my shoulder
And hold your pain at bay.
But neither of us is strong enough,
Nor weak enough to try.
So you sit in the rain
With your tears
And I lay in my bed
Eyes on mine in the dark; hand outstretched.
I press my face into the hollow of your shoulder;
Respite. Sanctuary. A place to hide.
I’m here now.
You feel like a promise kept, like a tearful smile,
And I can finally drift away.
Fuel the hurt in your eyes.
Can’t stop it, can you?
The fear, the hate, the self-loathing;
You mark my skin with the bruises
No one can see under yours.
If there was any doubt whether there exists a beating heart in this chest, the wretched pain you see in me from watching you fall in love should be enough to prove otherwise. Like a clumsy moth you beat against the meagre flame that is my soul and leave your dust inside me—it pollutes me.
You know… I can feel you.
Every motion, every eye blink and intake of breath turned into a game of mirrors with your shadow mimicking mine. Alas, when I look, chancing to catch those bright chameleon eyes, your head turns away.
It cannot be both. You are mine, or you are not.
I call myself too good to play this fucking game of yours, yet here I sit, the caustic fool putting pen to paper in the twisted parody of a love letter.
Oh, that my words were spikes I could drive deep to carve my name onto your bones. Instead, I dull their sharp edges on my own flesh and sit here a wounded thing, unable even to rail at the villainous treason of my own heart.