Turn the key and unfold me, darling.
My muscles ache from holding back from you for so long.
My fingernails miss your skin
My ******* miss your cheek
And my lips miss your hair.
But there are ghosts in our mattress now and your scent has long since washed away like the contents of my of my skin-bag down this drain, to the ocean. I used to believe it held the souls of the lost, those who believed not in gates or flames.
I know now I was foolish to believe that siren's tale, but the way the waves crash and shatter against the rocks mirrors the blade against my wrist and I know now I was foolish to believe in you too.