I would like to formally apologize,
for turning you into a demon.
All I wanted
was to be sane.
So,
I took what I could.
your taste.
your touch.
your time.
Of course, you kept your body,
no matter how much I wanted it.
No matter how much I had it.
I tried to cover my self
with your fingerprints
so that maybe no one could see
the skin underneath.
I tried to cover my selfishness
with my fingerprints.
tracing confessions of love
on your alabaster back.
The fingerprints are still there.
Populating our clay flesh
and our sky minds.
I'll admit to their beauty,
however tender they may be.
After the end,
you kept yourself,
and I kept
your touch.
your taste.
your tears.
pooling like the puddled palette
of a weeping painter.
running down my spine,
making me cry,
the colors.
I wanted you to feel me,
but my eye are knives
and my fingers flames,
so I strayed from my self
and gave you my mirror-heart
so you could watch yourself walk away.
Now that you're gone
your demon screams for freedom,
but she's kept engaged.
For I'm afraid
that her release
is my destruction.
Slowly,
I can feel her becoming my bones.
Soaking in.
The colors.
I would like to formally thank you,
for being my demon.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 12:01 PM UTC
I would like to formally apologize,
for turning you into a demon.
All I wanted
was to be sane.
So,
I took what I could.
your taste.
your touch.
your time.
Of course, you kept your body,
no matter how much I wanted it.
No matter how much I had it.
I tried to cover my self
with your fingerprints
so that maybe no one could see
the skin underneath.
I tried to cover my selfishness
with my fingerprints.
tracing confessions of love
on your alabaster back.
The fingerprints are still there.
Populating our clay flesh
and our sky minds.
I'll admit to their beauty,
however tender they may be.
After the end,
you kept yourself,
and I kept
your touch.
your taste.
your tears.
pooling like the puddled palette
of a weeping painter.
running down my spine,
making me cry,
the colors.
I wanted you to feel me,
but my eye are knives
and my fingers flames,
so I strayed from my self
and gave you my mirror-heart
so you could watch yourself walk away.
Now that you're gone
your demon screams for freedom,
but she's kept engaged.
For I'm afraid
that her release
is my destruction.
Slowly,
I can feel her becoming my bones.
Soaking in.
The colors.
I would like to formally thank you,
for being my demon.
Copyright: Bennett Tyler
