I've fallen into an inevitable black hole;
One of my own divine creation,
With streaks of light blue acrylic paint
And rusty guitar strings that sing
8 bar blues in the dark.

I've envisioned a palace of my own,
Tall, white walls
Decorated with Italian paintings and some of our own,
The light creating shapes on the carpet.

I've found a familiar sense of home
Somewhere inside the pit of your chest
Next to the rhythmic beat
Of my favourite song on repeat

From cardboard walls of colour-struck emotional discomfort,
Formed a sense of urgency
Between interlaced fingers and spines

I've come to find that I misplaced myself somewhere there
Perhaps beneath the gloomy chair in which you sat
Or in the fine laced stitches, burning blue onto the surface of our skin

I've inhaled the smoke of a thousand burning thoughts
All of which never cease to return from the dead
Much the same as my grieving eyes
Who do not seek to forget the freckles on your back
Or the creases on your stomach

I've given infinite love to a murderer
One who does not seek to return it
And after years of chasing oblivion
I am now aware of what it feels like
To be an undesired second.