well I thought of you in summer
but you did not suit the season--

a pale and solemn human,
your fingers stark and slim.

what was it like to shelter,
in the ring of salt and stone?

you thought that demons could not watch you,
when they've always found their home.

I saw you climb inside your skin, thinking
you'd be safer from within

but his fingertips
poked through

and he was the end of you.

You said the way everything
is so broken between us is
kind of pretty, like
a rotting flower. Were we always

a flower? Building up to those few minutes
of beautiful blossom, just waiting
to live out our potential, hoping
that we could miraculously last longer than
our alloted time, knowing

we never would? Were we always fated
to this slow withering
and pulling back, each returning, folding
into themselves, wishing
the clock would run backwards? You said

to dust all things return, and we
are trying to delay
the inevitable. All I know
is that all the tears I have shed
will not regrow this flower.

Walk invited
into my house.
Come change my whole
life upsidown.
Leave me a void
when you are gone.
Make me feel that
I don't belong.
Make my late hours
only your own.
Make me wish that
I was a stone.
When you're not here
then I will grieve,
but when you are,
I'll want to leave.