you know what happens to them. or maybe you don’t. maybe you’re still caught in the flood. that’s okay. it’s better to drown than to burn. don’t you think? don’t you think? don’t you think?
it comes to me in two distinct shapes. (distinct. are they distinct? to me, yes, but i suppose to you they are just as shapeless as i am to you.)
him. my beautiful idiot. though his hair and eyes are dark as night, i know there are sparks that lie there, dormant. waiting to be ignited. but he makes me smile, makes me laugh so hard my stomach begins to hurt. i haven’t felt a good hurt in such a long time. the lips of his ghost leave an afterimage on my neck. he likes to watch the color rise to my cheeks, likes to watch me squirm. he thinks i’m worth something.
her. my ethereal starry girl trapped in a rotting sack of flesh. she wants out. she wants out. i know she will supernova anytime. it will be just as beautiful and terrible as she is, but i don’t want her to go. she keeps me from floating away, even if i am so unbearably heavy as a result. she protects me, loves me. she always tells me so. i can still feel her hands on mine. they’re warm. she thinks i’m worth everything.
but it doesn’t matter which form it takes. it always ends the same. they kiss me (hold me protect me embrace me touch me touch me touch me touch) and they burn. they always burn. it’s because of me, i know it’s because of me. this can’t be my skin then, it can’t be. it must be gasoline or gunpowder or nitroglycerin or god i don’t know but don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch