as much as i loathe the familiarity of your frame
i can't help but be mesmurized by your face
     the look of your lips and the shape they take
as you wrestle the bottle to death


     i confess
     it's something i dream of
as the nightmares change their shapes

how could i ever expect to believe
that you understand
when you and i both know
     we see the world through different eyes

you don't see the monsters
who hide beneath my eyelids
you don't hear the things they whisper whilst i sleep
     you don't see my ****** up dreams

and yes
     i'd love for you to stay
and i do taste your flesh
          in the way you say "i know"

but
     no
you don't

so
     know this

this is why i rush you to leave
why i won't let you say "need"
     why i lock the door

this is why you DO want me more

          because i like you too much to break you
     and i'd hate to share with you my shadows

I wonder if you
ever wore your
heart on the
sleeve
of the shirt
I stole.

Regardless,
I'm sure
that there's space
for mine.

Stretched out my
sight line
like a tripwire trying
to catch someone
off-guard
and you
wandered into it,

stumbled slightly,

yet still
I was the one
who fell.

The hand that once held
such divine power
trembles like a willow branch
weighed down by ice
and battered
by a rude gale
Pale skin
sun deprived
Only ever caressed
by the light of the moon
Have you seen the circles
underneath your eyes
Its no suprise
you threw away all your mirrors
so long ago.

Never again
in the swirling maelstrom
will we dance together.
Your firey eyes
cut to the bone,
and in the flicker of a dying fire
I can barely see
that I am once again alone.
I once compared you to a fallen angel,
all glowing sword, and a fist
shaking in defiance of the heavens.
But, the horror, the horror of this sorrow
is a razored rain, falling in torrents.
I cannot ever touch you again.
I would rather drown,
in the blood, shed by this shower,
than to never again waver
in ecstasy, beneath the thrumming genius
of your potent power.
Oh, but sorrow, bitter sorrow,
I shall never again dance with you
in the swirling maelstrom.
Forgive me, lovely creature,
I knew not what I had done.

The cold mouth of the bottle
never told me it loved me,
but, it never told me it hated me neither.
It never spouted a geyser of derision
designed to drown my heart,
and brow beat me into submission.
It  never caressed my cheek,
a second before trying to scratch out my eyes.
It never called the lone declaration of my affection
a pack of halfassed lies.
It might **** me one day,
suffocate my brain, and perforate my liver...
But, the bottle never told me it loved me,
before trying to destroy me.