Tell me about the hidden closet,
The skeleton key that danced gently upon your collarbone,
Fragile and cold against your pale skin.
Death,
I called you.
Elegantly tragic,
Your white horse with his dead eyes stared into the souls of which you kept.
All but mine.
I was the lock to your skeleton key,
Your unwinding and unapologetic soul dwindled in my hollow bones.
Tainted blood and warmth that imitated life itself,
You bringer of death.
Your key belonged to you but your soul belonged to me.

I could tell you that you were enough to hold me down,
Like a weight you'd tie a couple of balloons on,
Steadily letting gravity caress me to it's surface,
Wondering if I’ll ever touch the moon.