Here is how I tell you the truth.

I haven't the slightest idea how to put these words onto something as gut-wrenching and precise as how the throne of these pulsating rhythms have been in a daze since Day One.

I'm afraid I can only reciprocate your gestures by poetic spontaneity and making you chuckle with my innuendo expertise; my words and actions may only go as far as this one foot on the ground lets me. It pains me every millisecond past midnight, see, and often more as I fill my guts with shots of nausea, my brain plays dailies of you brushing my hair off my cheek or humming to sleep on my chest, to which I profusely bleed.

So perhaps it won't hurt too much to tell you a thing I hold dearly in this massive void I thought was my heart after all.

In the grand scheme of things, I am certain that my profound affection towards you must have manifested from strong willful denial in such a manner that I've learned to love until there's not more I can give but love, no matter the expense.

But I guess that far beyond my naïvety, I have come to seek comfort in those lips that tasted nicotine yet dripping in honey, sending me to heaven and hell back and fro as you utter, "I'll take another one."

I hear the voices say I took it too far, the way I adore the jade and byzantium skies you would paint on my skin with your bare hands. What I spill under those sheets, wearing only deep longing and velvet honesty, is not what was left of me -- it's everything I have.

But what's more to lose when you already had the bullet lodged deep right into your chest?

So here goes, so blatant as it may seem, but you are the trickling toxicity in my *****, the massive pit of flames that found home in my soul.

Лучик.  

Anyone or anything else will never come close and coax me into realising otherwise. I perceive us far too vividly, so morbidly -- a mad choking audacity as infinite as all there is.

I hope you don't mind, for I'm in too deep to be at odds with the fact that, God, I must have loved you so much.