What happens when you leave?
I've learned the contours of your body so well,
I know them better than my own.
What happens when I leave?
I've learned your volatile emotions better than my own,
what happens if I can no longer handle them?
To leave would be leaving this place I call home,
travel to a foreign country,
get lost for a while.
What happens then?
I have felt lost for so long,
but somehow I found my way to you.
Your embrace is my home,
my sanctuary.
What happens when it ends?

I am submerged,
drowning.
Trying to find the surface,
but it's coated in ice.
I reach my hands up trying to find air - all I feel is ice,
it's relentless,
I will never be free.
Something is always trapping me.

There's a darkness in you,
it bubbles and boils under your skin.
I see it sometimes,
in words spoken in the heat of the moment,
when you set the smoke detector off while cooking us dinner.
It scares and intrigues me,
like an electrical socket to a toddler,
I tell myself it will hurt if get too close,
but I cannot help myself.
I want to see every part of you,
even the angry ones.