I’m writing you this because you haunt me.
There is not a night that passes that I don’t dream of your smile and wake up wishing I could remember.
You are perfect in your imperfections.
The exact mess I believe I am worth.
Each night, the same.
And now this, love? Followed by a hollow murmur of the life I might have had if I had played my cards different.
This poker game has a high buy in.
I think I’m out of chips before the first card is dealt.
Life without you would be perfect, in the way that a cardboard box is perfect when you have no roof over your head.
But your smile weathers the hardest storm, the highest pill, the most desperate cigarette.
I love you as a reflection of what I cannot escape.
The last of my chips are on the table, but there is no game left to play.
The casino is closed, the last old fashioned served.
I am hollow with my vices, but you are the ultimate martyrdom.
A scream to the world that if I can make you happy, then I am redeemed.
Baptismal waters never satiated me or the devil, but we would both cry to see your eyes one last time.
A manic pursuit that ends in the bloodiest of tragedies.
My bed lies cold and divided from the thoughts of you pouring onto my pillow.
Veritable emotion guts me, spinning me out of my head and back into the empty days.
You do not exist.
You have never existed.
A flight of fancy in a world I am forbidden to walk alone.