my depression keeps me company
when you are not here,
words like acetone sunrises
and the taste of broken glass,
it’s kind of like
falling in love with death,
if you’ve ever been so unlucky.
his arms hold me strong-
like yours-
but his grip is tight, vise-like
doors of melancholy barred shut by self- loathing,
and just a dash of intrigue,
almost like i keep forgetting what it’s like
to cry myself a wasteland of tears.
he keeps me company when you are not here,
words like sharpened daggers
and the smearing of blood against ivory skin
it’s kind of like
watching the burning of a silent masterpiece.
i am the silent masterpiece
and baby i am burning.
-a.c.b