It began in the night,
With a cold, nauseous sweat,
And with my legs trembling,
The way they did solely in my times
Of bedridden sickness.
It began with a click, a sudden spark,
Much like the creation of the universe,
A recollection of burning memories,
Of golden times,
So sweet and gone.
I wish to scream, to howl in a manner
Never seen before, and in doing so
To break my lungs into oblivion.
It began with you, coming back in my life,
It began with you setting me on fire,
Forcing my frigidity, sickening my innards,
As if you'd be a recurring disease.
But the fire fades and its ashes choke me,
And the wind blows them away towards nothingness.
Your light, in all its elegant eloquence, burns my skin,
Melts me away as if I'd be nothing more than a waxen candle.
And I say it's not ok of you to burn my skin the way you do
And behave like it's nothing and I'm nothing.
I say it's not ok for you to come back in my life
And mess things up the way you did.
I say it's not ok for you to render my heart a mess,
A whole, untampered storm, wherein ships
Lose track of themselves. You ripped my heart out
Night by night, each of these years, left and came back now
In sole boredom, and I say it's not ok for you to come in my life
In moments of pathological boredom,
For I know the faltering and meaninglessness
That promises of yore hold. For I know
Their mere fickleness,
And the flimsy words we both use
In their defense.
But what could have caused this? What could have broken
That which looked unbreakable
Rested inbetween us?
The semblance of perfection, my creed,
Bathed in lead,
Confined within the reaches of our procreation,
Ironically, birthed with malignant trepidation
The harsh realism that's ahead
Eats away at me.
And you do nothing more than watch passively.
I say it's not ok for you to hold my heart in your pocket
All these years, and come back in my life now,
Like a recurring disease, simply because
You experience your pathological moments
Of boredom, and I say it's not ok that,
In doing so, you behave as if it would be ok
And it would do nothing
And I would be nothing.
Though I sail back towards you, towards my very genesis
Towards the womb of undying light,
For I am not nothing, I was part of this creation,
And I will live to tell the tale.
You are nothing, you mean nothing,
I will turn back to strangle you
In your own pit of gall and gutter.
I will dig your trenches,
Lie in them awoken.
Now the sky is red and the trees are black,
And nothing separates us, once more.
This grave was made for one, but you fit well.
We are once again one, we are whole,
And the fire has faded.