I ran through a ****** of crows and stole the feather of an albatross from the beak of a dragon sleeping high in a tree under the cover of fading autumn leaves and climbed upon its back and flew through a tale of time where eternity was frozen and carved into flying fish and I awoke in a mid-winters dream and you were there burning the lost pages of my soul with the fire burning from your lips and you were painting a song on the walls of my heart in a language my eyes did not recognize but my blood translated every word into magic and hung each into the fabric of the indigo night sky and I traded you my heart for your hand and we danced with fingers locked and palms embraced  and we left behind a prismatic kaleidoscope of madness in the wakes of our steps and fell into the seamless marriage of lust to love and heaven to hell and your sins became my virtues and my sins became your prayers and nothing we did needed forgiving for it was all in an act and dream of love

It was like puling off a bandaid.
Slow and painful at first, but as soon as you grab the edges, tug on it a bit and feel that its not that bad... you rip the whole thing off.

he grabbed my edges, tugged on it to see my reaction and as soon as we both felt it wasn't that bad... he let it rip.

I grabbed on his arm when he pulled the bandaid too hard
but the pain filled me.
It filled me with lines of ' this is it' , 'this is what you asked for', 'you're finally the last one' and the biggest one...'its gonna be him'.

And once the bandaid was ripped off, questions filled me of
'what happens now'
'what do we do now?' and
'Do we do this again?'.

But I don't have answers to these questions, nor do I have guts to ask him.
I never thought id be considering taking my bandaid off,
nevertheless asking him to do it.

But now the bandaid is off, and the scar there for everyone to see.
but I don't see a scar.
I see him.
I just don't know if when he looks at his bandaid, he see me.