I see, you.
No I do.
See you.
Behind the masquerade and party face.
Beneath the dating facade,
There is a stairway that spirals to the depth,
Of your soul,
And you, led me, down it.
Though you didn't know I was there.
I found the locked door without a key.
I found the peeling wallpaper,
Where the damp, had set in, to rot.
I searched high and low for a way in to your sadness.
I pulled the wallpaper, bit by bit,
Still you didn't know I was there.
I stared through the keyhole til my shoulders grew old,
Still you didn't know I was there.
Slowly I began to fade,
Like gaslights turned down in a Victorian parlour room.
My skin peeled away by that doorway,
And I tried to match them to the wallpaper.
I grew thin for waiting to suckle on the marrow,
Of the very bones of you,
That sat behind that lock.
I sat at the door for a sound.
No key.
No lock existed anymore.
I was trapped.
Should I have adventured so far?
I drank you up, like you, you were, were water.
I became flooded in your presence,
And I became a drought in your absence.
I am found in your loss,
I am lost in your found.
Never have I been more warranted,
Than when that door was closed,
And you let me out to see the sunlight,
To visit, once in a while,
When it was permitable,
And I flung myself at the benches, the air,
The very sky.
And down here, the air is not clean,
The acrid hue of life, is marred by the poisonous wallpaper,
Of your very skin,
Inside, revolting, against you;
Because I tend to think,
Did I take these stairs?
Or did you lead me here?
Did you know I was the key?