where do i end and you begin?
in the grasp, you hold me in,
when i am merely a summer breeze
or a kiss of death.
what am i to you,
if nothing more than
crashing symphonies
playing tone-deaf melodies?
i am entirely unto you,
bound to your grace
where i am held, hostage;
in the belief that if you kiss my poisonous lips
and seek refuge
where i do not deserve
such a happily ever after
but a gravestone next to yours.