Craters in my skull, let me rest. Tombs of ash from fires long burned out, but I cannot see past their flames. You’re standing there, on the other side, and you say you have me all worked out. Do you know how wrong you are? How close you’ve never been? Under my breath, a million times, I’ve lied and led you astray. What I am, I pray you never know. Your eyes cannot see through me - you do not care enough. I’m heavy headed, falsed intentioned - no good for you. Disolve me against the back of your tongue and steal my mouth whilst I sleep, for it fears you not then. In my head I will quiver and dream of foreign snow and milky skin and wish you were here. Blanket me in your empty verse. Tell me to stop speaking. I am grieving for you; begging that you forgive me, my only lord, in your kingdom of brick and moss.
But you don’t believe in me.
I’ll inch closer to the face, the fall, and in the swell of the undercurrent I’ll watch you descend. And I don’t know where you’re going; how long you’ll stay. I’ll slouch by the sea until you return to find me. Eventually though, when the weight is not fit to bare, I know I will follow you. I cannot hope for anything more than what I do not have. Simple matter is not mine to grasp; I am not to command. And all we know and all we will ever have are tiny masses made of stars - you are sky; you are bone; you are skin; you are the moisture between my thighs. And when finaly I die, I will fall apart into the dust I once was, before you, before me, and perish. Like the slightest acidity in the air, I will exist only in the cellar of your thoughts; in what you see but do not care for. One day, perhaps, you will understand, and you will grow to appreciate what I have become.