And the plot thickens
Or sickens
As they say

Constantly sitting in the same place
Makes me feel lost.

Welded together, we are by now. Or am I imagining?
The only key that fits my locked doors, my haunted mansion.
Exorcise these demons, love. Purify me.
Tree branches scape my windows and my floorboards groan.
Growing younger with age; you own the sands of time;
The exact crushed stone that took my life away in the first place.

I've written an epic for you, a story of things that we could see together.
Turned out lights and glimmering stars on our chandelier.
Diamonds glowing in your eyes and a fire burning in mine.
Step back and fall into nothing, but somehow something.
Birds are singing for us, love. Wherever their nests lie, we shall too,
Collapse into a thunder storm and drown out their song with our own.

Strong and fast- moving; we are no longer human.
We are a current, swift and caressing the life we have lead.
We wash ashore with the push and pull of your tides, steam
Licking us as my fire burns. The sweet moss fill our lungs
As we crush it beneath us. The soft bed of green
Replacing the squeaks that we have heard many times before.

And I say your name. Whisper and moan. Almost.

I am the rat that escaped from all of these
Bottled diseases. The flash eating organisms that have wasted the others.
But I was unable to escape the memories, the scars,
And the aftermath. I still have the sickness; the antibiotic did not complete
It's process of healing. The caress of chemicals
Inside of my bloodstream did not satisfy the lust for life I had always suffered through.

Never have I seen a light other than the fluorescents hanging above the steel table
As they dissected my friends. They only ones I have ever seen alive.
The factory settings of their decomposition have been restarted and they erode as if
Made of dust. They basically are at this point.

The rustling of papers sickens me, recording everything the scientists see; they study us
Under a microscope. They smell of rust and sawdust, old and crippled. Cruel.
They keep us in glass boxes and torture us with everything we fear.

you can spend hours
days weeks or
even months
creating an image
a drawing or painting
a design or poster

then when someone sees it
it takes a few seconds
before they are over it
and want more