You speak in cryptic kisses ( k i s s m e ) that you left littered and staining my skin, black and blue from blows that once caressed, now linger as phantom memories of phantom hands that ******* undone. And those days, although so far away from where I am, make me feel like a tourist in my own body. One who stands barefoot outside in the cold, looking in through the cracked and ***** windows of my weary eyes. But would you return like a shark who smells blood or would you wait like a predator in the shadows for me to completely fall to pieces? When all I am is a fusion of crossed wires and mixed signals, a train barrelling through a dark tunnel of insecurities and everything you ever said I was when I knew full well that I wasn’t. Muscle and bone and marrow and guts, beating and thumping in tune but out of sync to empty words and nonplussed emotions. A heart that races for no apparent reason and familiar faces carved into stone. Flowing through a river of blood like a drunken sailor, with too much pride to ask for help but too much guilt to set sail for home. So as a fool would do, I will quiver as I drag my calloused heart towards the edge of the mountain top where I will squint, and staring into the setting sun place one foot in front of the other as it singes my skin to the colour of my sins.