for @charlieshandmaiiden 😏
love isn't deep
it's a surface level bandage
that seeps
into our bones
doesn't heal
but integrates
doesn't shape
but creates
My heart started as nothing
Now it has chambers
where I lock away a little piece
of each and every
one of you. and you. and you.
(and maybe me)
till I am coated in others
till I am no longer me
till I am but the love of nothing
for something
that was nothing
a revolving door of things that aren't deep
I bid my time, I play the game, while darker blood runs through my veins. I wait the day that you will see, the demon that is in me.
It snuffs the light, it kills the joy, it took my soul, I am its toy. I knew its value, I gave it free, it a Devil and I a Cheat.
It controls my mind, it steals my air, I traped it in my flesh, I think it fair. Death is false and the night is young, I leave this world and have my fun.
My smile is cruel, my eyes are dead, with others torment my glee is fed. The world is weak and full of ghosts. Chaos is my sin, one I love the most.
I walk into the sea and I hope it erases me, sweeps me away to silence.
Maybe I become nothing more, than the sands on the floor, of this sunken silent island.
you're so fucking welcome to cry in my bathroom. you hear me?
steal the spare key from under the doormat or the key under the shoe rack or the key in the flower vase or the kitchen drawer or my favourite candle-
or steal it right out of my pocket.
(what do you mean why do i have so many house keys? ask this house why it has so many ghosts and why they keep leaving me)
break in at 3 am and make yourself at home
cry in my doorway if you can't make it any further
I'll get out of bed and carry you up. we'll sit on the ground in my tiny dilapidated bath stall, going through the box of shitty half- expired make-up I never bought and try to laugh
or throw stupid fake potted plants out the window onto the rusty pile of baby bikes I never rode if you need to scream and watch something shatter
or we'll just curl up in a tight ball and lay in the ancient tub, turn on the shower and cry and gasp and sob and weep and wail and howl till we're floating in a salt water ocean
who cares if the tile floor's cold. I've got a dozen fluffy bathrobes hooked on the door. we'll build a soft nest to crash on and a fort to protect us. we'll find the old paperbacks I hid in the the laundry basket and read till the suns rises and sets and explodes and fades away
who cares about those stupid lumps of porcelain plastic. they're ugly and I never wanted them. I think I'd rather have you break them than the world break you
who cares if the tub's a little rickety and the water's cold and the boiler's old and loud and slow and we'll get soaked to the bone.
I'll holding you till you stop crying. and then I'll holding you after. when you need to come back from where you left to. back to my senior citizen tub in my decrepit water closet in the house you're welcome to. back to me and all my goddamn keys for the same empty lock