06/04/2016
Let's get this straight. I know you are going to
break.
You will break through the spaces in my poetry,
you will break in the meaning of songs I listen
to, you will break my functionality after you
leave.
Don't ask me how I know you'll leave; everyone
knows the answer. It's exactly when reality has
shoved s**t in your face more than once and you
happen to believe more in lies and disasters than
yourself or beauty. Men or women; whoever
decides to take a part of me next; just
remember I expect you to increase the count of
my demons; flourish my insides with new
doubts; kiss me while you point all your arrows
at me; load your emotional baggage on my
shoulders while you leave mine at a bar that
never opens its shutters; kill my blood cells so
that I can replace them with smoke I inhale.
And yet, I'll trust you. I'll give you more and
more chances to lock me up in a room and set it
on fire. I will show you every scar; every broken
bone till you become one of them too.
I'll let you take my hand as we take a walk
across purgatory. We will be the molten wax no
one reuses after a night of passion; You will
innocently hand me the gun and I'll show you
how to pull the trigger; knowing one day its
nose will point at my chest; the very chest you
had rested your newly shampooed hair on, a
week ago. You'll be my incomplete cigarette; for
it started raining before I could turn around and
get inside and you will be that shooting star,
when all it is, is dead.
You'll be everything that destroys me and I will
know; but that will be our creepy little secret till
I start burying your head in my broken literature
rather than in between my legs.
So tell me, will you be my next?
