You are the space in between my thoughts.
You are the grand design in which I am overseer.
Atrast nal tunsha -- may you always find your way in the dark.
You are the electricity that runs in my brain.
Closer and closer your lips pull to mine. And I desecrate your innocence in mine.
You have become the space between sentences. The pause between ragged breaths. The dusk of a million light switches turned off.
The trenches & blood rivers.
The bloodied walls and leather welts.
This is a feeling rarely experienced, rolling sadness on my tongue as expressions reveal pained smiles.
Time itself slows to a crawl, as the sadness screeches to a halt.
My godless self, my red draped black cat, my ashen kiss, the ghost, the illusion, the missed connection, the graveyard soil.
And a secret involvement in your ******. A lifelong commitment to uncertainty. Undertaking love, reciting the future, guarding the past.
"Who are you, that you don't know your own history?" - Lonesome Road
The only thing to be colorless, odorless, not have any physical form yet cuts, wounds and festers as if it was alive.
You exist. In rotting words, putrid flesh and fading art.
You exist. In quivering lips, shivering hands and eternal *******.
You exist. In the covenant of the womb, the atoms racing together to create you & break apart when you end.
I'm coming back home to my lights and shadows.