I wish I could feel the burn of your lips as they press into mine, But all my mind can comprehend is the tight pain as your knife digs into the broken edges of my already curving spine. Your eyes are sunken and hollow, and they match the shell that used to contain my heart. Blood still pumps, brown and mudded, a lack of oxygen from your lips ******* the life out of my body as they burn As your hand twists and my dark blood trails like thick syrup, coating your fingers.
Your cold fingers, almost as cold as my feet, circulation slowing, face paling but you don't move away. You seem to enjoy it as you pull me closer, crushing my arms with your own, muffling the beating of my heart as it slows.
I wish you could feel the cracks in my lips but I forgot, and put on that lipstick you like so much this morning. Didn't think that you would take it as a sign.
As a sign that like that cold day behind the tree I would accept a kiss As a sign that I would giggle as you surprised me with another three weeks later Or a sign that, when I said it was over, when I turned around to get on the bus I would be waiting for you to spin me around.
Because I wasn't.
I don't wish I could feel your lips burn as you kiss me. I wish I could ignore the heat and focus on the dimming sensation as your knife pulls out, But then again I guess I never was any good at noticing when I was killing myself for you