If you let me,
I’d kiss your hands
and the insides of
your palms until
my lips are engraved in your
pores, until the taste of
your skin is the first thing
that hits my tongue
every morning.
You don’t need to hold my
hand to your chest again
so I’d feel that rapid
beating threatening
a near explosion.
I can feel it elsewhere.

The fact of the matter is;
you’re beautiful
and
I’m scared of you.

When we collided,
the pieces of you and me
flooded the ground
we stood on in a way
that left us in awe,
in a way that left us both
so equally
broken.

In a way that
left us wondering
how we would tell apart
those beautifully
similar parts.

But you;

my noble savior.

You, with that cape on your back;
you picked all the pieces
off the floor and built me
up in parts of me and you,
and
brick by brick,
you completed me,
you broke your damn back until
you made me whole,
until I overflowed,
until there was excess,
until you stood there
a mere half,
looking at the you and the me,
inside me,
realizing I’d become taller
than you remembered
and that there
was a certain bitterness,
a strange sense of
loss that comes with
being the hero.

But don’t you know, my sweet?

Heroes don’t live here.
And heroes change their minds.
And heroes can break you
all over again,
just by falling apart before your eyes.

Because there’s yes,
and there’s no, and
then there’s that
hollow place between them where
the lack of an
absolute
keeps leaving me distraught,
keeps pointing out
things to me
I’d rather not remember

like how your hair smelled
that day I broke your heart.

I wasn’t always this
confused, you know.
There was a point where
I found comfort
in black
and white,
solace in wrong
and right. But it doesn’t
always work that way,
does it darling?
    I’m in the grey.
Different shade each
day,
and my actions?
All I know is that
I keep swaying back
and forth between
what the devil whispers
into my ears
and what lies inside
my skull, but I’m reaching a point
where both entities are starting
to agree with one another.

And I will beg of you to go
the more I need you to stay,
because I’m trying not
to need so much.

Skin me alive and leave me be

–    and go.

I realize

I’ve been dipped in
your ocean for far too long,

I’ve been swimming around
inside you
I’ve been swaying my hips
back and forth
with the movement of your
majestic waves,
that I’ve forgotten how it feels
to be at the surface; to fly,
to light up the world
in red and orange,
to fill up the sky
with self-ignited
blaze.

I’ll rise like the sun,
declaring independence,
singing solidarity
and self-love.
The more I burn,
the more of myself
I throw into the fire,
the more beautiful my flame,

and I’ll shine this blinding light
to wipe out

the darkness,     me and my luminous heat
soaring high

above all else.

I’d rather not.

Please, don’t make me.

I’ve killed you off so many times
in my head, I wouldn’t know
what to do with you
should you face me.

Walk the other way.
For someone who’s so imperfect,
you sure know how to
make me feel small –
but won’t you have a little mercy, baby? January
is when you lost me,
and every year
around this time

I strip myself bare,     like clockwork,

but maybe you just don’t want this debt paid back.

I guess
I’ll just try to bury the knife a little deeper.
And maybe this time,
I wouldn’t be
so inclined to kiss you back to life.

It sinks in,

drip drops,

music,
rehearsed lines and all;
perfect acting. Surreal.
It’s not murder if you’re
still fucking alive.

I know,
I know,
you’ve heard it all before.
I’ve seen it a million times.

I’m just recycling old dreams
because I’m running out of new ones.