We met on the axis of two different parallels
a paradox too taboo to be whispered
gone in a blink of an eye
and yet exist in a sea of desperation
You were gone in the next exhale
and I too follow suit
unacknowlegding of the fact
that we both wear the same existance
Do you remember that story?
how prometheus got chained,
his liver pecked every dawn
because he showed kindness?
We both atone for sins not of our own
but would glady drown in our exile
because it was better than the stale pit
those people call life
This were the worlds we condemned
ourself to be with
two people, who knows
but is bound by our vow to be blind
Winter in my home was always beautiful
how pristine the snow is
until you dig up the corpse
under our fingernails
Just like the summer in your home
where the plants are growing
from the river of blood
that run beneath
You are soot stained, cold eyes
but your hands are warm
They were always warm,
and i wonder if it was because
of the blood that stained your hands
You use your spine as a spear
I use my ribcage as a shield
those tear tracks have died
and there is both spite in our eyes
We never touched, except for that first time
never shared anything except understanding
i do not know your story,
nor do you know mine
but it was more than enough
We both met at the axis of a parallel
created out of the resonance
of the guilt and the war and
everything in between
and we met with a touch of kindness
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 6:23 AM UTC
We met on the axis of two different parallels
a paradox too taboo to be whispered
gone in a blink of an eye
and yet exist in a sea of desperation
You were gone in the next exhale
and I too follow suit
unacknowlegding of the fact
that we both wear the same existance
Do you remember that story?
how prometheus got chained,
his liver pecked every dawn
because he showed kindness?
We both atone for sins not of our own
but would glady drown in our exile
because it was better than the stale pit
those people call life
This were the worlds we condemned
ourself to be with
two people, who knows
but is bound by our vow to be blind
Winter in my home was always beautiful
how pristine the snow is
until you dig up the corpse
under our fingernails
Just like the summer in your home
where the plants are growing
from the river of blood
that run beneath
You are soot stained, cold eyes
but your hands are warm
They were always warm,
and i wonder if it was because
of the blood that stained your hands
You use your spine as a spear
I use my ribcage as a shield
those tear tracks have died
and there is both spite in our eyes
We never touched, except for that first time
never shared anything except understanding
i do not know your story,
nor do you know mine
but it was more than enough
We both met at the axis of a parallel
created out of the resonance
of the guilt and the war and
everything in between
and we met with a touch of kindness
