She is away - not just because I was told that she left,
but because I cannot sense her presence, her warmth.
She is the sun who has migrated into my universe.
Without the sun, one grows cold, frigid, frostbitten, frozen.
Hands are violet, for she is the one heating my blood to keep circulating,
my heart to keep pumping
to the beat of her alluring Siren song.
On the contrary of the norm, I am unafraid,
not fearing my own death
but relishing in her beauty, her voice the maker of a euphoric nirvana that swallows me whole.
Takes me captive.
Take me, my Siren,
should you be my boon or my bane;
envelop me, and keep me;
expose your soul to me,
for each minuscule flaw your self-loathing eye sees,
I see perfect imperfections that only draw me nearer to you,
as I find all of you so enticing.
It is each harsh scar carved upon its fleshy canvas,
a masterpiece slashed by a dissatisfied artist,
that I wish to heal
as if I could kiss away the pain that you have allowed in, the pain that consumed you and manipulated you and lied to you and said it would always be there for you.
It told you it was okay not to feel, so you soaked in apathy.
It told you you were deserving of its services, so you left your mark, a ****** trail in the sand.
But it is all wrong, my lovely Siren; an ache I wish you'd disregard,
the shell of suppressed emotions I wish you'd shed.
Beneath, in your new, vulnerable skin, be washed in the love from the ocean,
the ocean over which you have sang for so long.
So long! time spent near the sea,
yet you never allowed the shore to even splash you.
Go, go beyond ankle-deep, my goddess,
go drench yourself in these pure waters.
It is these waters where we meet, mutually basking in a new realm of tranquility.
Take me away, but where there shall be joy,
where your melancholy tune finally strikes a chord of solace.
Diarrhea of the pen, thank you.~
