I’ve never studied the ***** of a nose so much.
Never wondered, thoughtful and inquisitive, how it would feel pressed against my raspberry cheek.
It’s the same shade of the lights that flash ‘stop’ against your skin, and that’s the same colour that I imagine the sun will flash when it burns and dies.
You lift my hand and kiss it.

Maybe this quiet is all I have.
I’m blind and lost and stumbling terribly. You see it all, first hand.
But I see you. Every curve, the way your lips turn upward when your kisses move up my wrist.

I’ve never been so lost in something before. Never so uncoordinated, never so unsure.
Maybe this will be like this forever. Maybe I will never learn to curb that which takes me, sharp teeth and violent, to the place where my quiet peace rots. Maybe the sun will burn out all too soon.

But for now, there’s you. Your nose. The red lights across your face.

You put my hand down to your thigh. The lights turn green.

this is where it ends.

the line in the sand is drawn,
and I wonder
if we will recover from this

a twisted knife in my chest
unfeeling and distant
(like you’ve always been
why am I surprised?)

there has to be a ‘we’ for us both to recover.

has it ever been together,
or have we always been two
seperate people?

you used to ****** me away
dark fingers in the night,
watching the hot lights flicker onto the television
as your beast panted and snarled in the driveway

I don’t think I’ve ever been yours
not really
not in a way that matters

the line in the sand has been drawn and I cannot recover from this.

there’s a scar now, on my chest
white and deep, cut from silver and a blazing hot summer
you told me everything I needed
you don’t look at me the same anymore.

Isn't it a strange thing when the sun begins to set?
Like some too-romantic field of dreams that haven't happened yet?

How entrancing when the sun goes down and life just turns to gold
Lying gilded there before my face
--lies blatantly and to my face, just like the myths of old

And that sliver of a second that looks magical to most
To most a golden royal ball, but it doesn't have a host

See, that moment is just sacred, in an awful sort of way
Where the holy and the evil darks have a common note to play

During every other time of day, the light and dark are two
During every other song they play, they play a different tune

During sunset everything deceives itself into a common hue
The vivid reds and blues of midday,
Hidden behind this yellowy lens into a hazy view

And even when the darkness sets, it has two separate parts
One with elegance and beauty, one a cloak for acts of all ****** hearts

But in this moment the angel and the devil do the same
To pull your soul into your mind, your body and your brain

At this time you feel every good you've never done
And all the sickest thoughts you've known? You re-feel every one

The holy self of all goodwill within you breaks
for everything it's missed

While paralyzed in a lustful glow
Remembering every sultry sin you've kissed

For the angel, it's to guilt you,
On the wings of heaven's dove

While the devil tries to win you back
And reclaim all your love

But for me, it's just like the half-second you get
To both step off of the chair, and suddenly regret

did you know
we are made
of stardust?

a million wishes
are made upon
our bones
our eyes
and our blood

every night we see
a part of ourselves
dotted in a technicolor sky

every day we bid
those stars a good bye
until the night comes again.

how dependant
we seem to be
on stars.

how dependent
we are on
each other.