just let me crawl beside you,
I am fairly small,
you won’t notice I am there.
Trace my fingertips and keep one hand on my hair.
The rest of our bodies hardly touch,
except in moments of readjusting in our sleep.
Well,
besides our feet;
two pairs of cold feet that always manage to find each other across the space of secretive sheets.
You invited me to visit you,
to fly across the country,
and yet you claim to care so little for me.
Then I have read that you have asked to see others,
to write with others,
but you asked them
‘would you like to write with us?’
Is it safe to assume I was the other part to that team?
It’s never safe to assume with you
, I guess that’s why I stick around.
I keep following your cryptic directions to the imagined Wonderland,
and I am the pure, white apron wearer that is stained with your teas.
You call me a possible temptation,
you have referenced me as Satan,
as if you were afraid but you sir are intrigued.
You are the temptation, devil’s advocate, not me.
Because Satan does not wish for his victims to quell their fires and demons,
nor for them to reach their full potential.
But calling me the guilty party, the bad guy,
the bloodthirsty queen is how you can keep yourself away,
from the truth.
But you are mad for trying, for thinking you could.