I’d trace your spine until you felt the love from my fingertips burn hotter than the pain shrieking in your bones.
I’d fiddle with your lamp until it was the perfect shade of indigo.
I’d keep watch for you in the dark and shield you in the blinding light.
I’d run you baths that made you feel pure.
you’d never sleep alone,
unless you wanted to.
even then,
I’d be sitting against your door
with a glass of tea,
fruit,
and your pills.
I’d write you pathetic sonnets.
I’d sing you off-key songs.
I’d read you poetry that brought us both to tears.
I’d draw you stupid doodles and try to make you laugh.
you’d never be alone
on the miserable floor.
those *******,
with all their relentless,
maddening buzz
wouldn’t be heard over me.
louder,
or more demanding.
I’d feed you Nutella: my very last spoonful.
I’d clean your room as often as you wanted, or never.
I’d take you to bookshops and cafés and nowhere at all.
I’d sit with you and play with your piercings.
you wouldn’t be alone,
staring awake at dawn.
the dark,
it wouldn’t be spent so restlessly.
I wouldn’t quieten my desire.
no.
not this time.
I’d say I’m sorry when I laughed so hard I spit.
I’d love you when you couldn’t love yourself.
I’d care for you when all you saw was waste.
I’d carry you wherever we went and tell everyone you’re mine.
January 30th, 2014.
to the lamentations of (broken) promise and pain, once dedicated to my lady Hades.
this is the most difficult piece for me to post, in so many ways.
I'm not your Persephone anymore.
there are no more promises of “i'd” - you saw to that.
you cannot understand how much I hate the piece of myself that cannot hate you.
that will always platonically love you, even when I wish I didn't.
I hope that ineffable connection between us still exists, so you might sense that I will always platonically love you, but I don't know if I can forgive you.
