I've been begging for the one thing in life that can promise certainty; Death.

Death opened his arms to me, and every demon dragged me by the legs to Death's tempting smile.

I never imagined Death to look like every regret I ever had. He smiled like you, his eyes matched the sky and his voice whispered in the way you did everytime you lied.

Death was friendly; he shook my hand at our first meeting but his grasp was a bit too friendly and a bit too tight. It intrigued me, and it surely intrigued the anger inside of me.

There are two types of demons inside of me, and the strongest ones are masked with your laugh and your memory. Every time you told me you loved me, every time you lied and said "I'm not mad, cuddling is far better," created a breed of demon that begs for Death's kiss.

The other kind, the kind that I may never understand, begs for a love deeper than any body of water you kissed me in. But these demons are afraid of fire, they are afraid of passion. I call these demons Cowardice, and a coward I may be.

Death offered a home for us three, at the cost of giving up the life I had. I begged Death to let me go, but his response was just like yours and I still think of Death's kiss as if it's a reminder of every kiss you place upon my skin.

Your eyes open slowly and your blurry vision begins to fade. You look around and the room is white. Hanging over you is a canopy collecting every butterfly you've ever experienced. You step from underneath it and your feet touch the  floor covered in satin. You begin slipping just as your control once began to slip through your own fingers. You feel for the wall for support only to find your hand stained blue and cold.

The room was flooded with blue. You walk towards the cd player, and push play like you have a thousand times before. The cd plays the sounds of the ocean, the splashing against the rocks reminded you of a love that always came back for more. You were calm and every ounce of you called out for the warmth of the sun and the taste of the salt on his lip.

His kisses grew far more passionate than you ever intended and the vines leading down euphoric paths became green and quickly the room fades a deep emerald. The leaves began to change and your vines snapped much sooner than you ever planned for.

Sun poured into the light and reflected on every mirror you so impatiently refused to stare into. The room was yellow. You were alone with mirrors and a puzzle. The puzzle represented every piece of him that you never understood and your frustration pushed through your mind like crepuscular rays in a cloud. You heard yellow meant happy, but it only reminded you of a cowardice and an irritation that could cut holes in granite rock.

You look down towards your chest slowly rising and falling only to find the floor is orange, the walls are orange, every table and chair is orange. You walk over and sit in the corner, in the chair, seeming to be nailed to the floor and suddenly you remember every regret hammered into your head with no intention of release, just like the chair.

Power, lust and *******. You were covered in his scent and the marks on your skin were as red as the walls. The ruby matched your hatred, but it represented the passion that once coursed through your veins and raced with the beating of your heart that sounded far too much like the clock that was ticking out of time. It was red and it was quiet, but your intensity diminished as the  luxury of purple took its course and had its way with the walls.

The hands on the clock were amethyst along with every shelf end and every book within it. You reach past the cobwebs to reveal a book of your life. The pages are stained with deep purple smudges similar to your arms and knees after your demons have beaten you down. You begin to read the words on every page covered in black ink.

You realize now the colors are painted along the wall of your mind. It is as dark inside your mind and you feel submerged in a water deeper than the well your family had once thrived from. But the well of hope has run dry and you desperately search for the water that once kept you all afloat. The only noises you hear are every regret that ever snuck its way into the crevices of every memory. You pray for white, yellow, red, anything but black. But you are alone with the demons and you are alone in the walls of your head.

Your words cut me like the harsh frost of winter. It's been a while since you've been gone but it's been winter year round, and I've been hoping for spring to melt away the bitterness in my head. There is ice on all of the paths and I keep slipping into a darkness that comes much earlier than it used to. I pray for spring to come, but all I've known is winter and what if it is harsher than these past few months? What if the warmth it promises is covered in morning dew and its smell is wrapped in our sheets?

Or what if the chains formed by the ice of quietly whispered lies keep me trapped against the post of un-forgetfulness? I'm beginning to believe the warmth that the sun brings has been trapped behind that same post you've locked me to, except the post is your bed, and it is the words that you let seep from your lips into my ears.

I have been longing for words delicate enough to live inside my heart but also longing for words of bravery strong enough to dance with my demons until I see the seasons change within me. I've been longing for spring. Desires glimmer in my eyes, grasping for the hope of change. I've been clinging to hope more fragile than lilac's petals when they first begin to bloom.

Spring was warm this year, but the nights were still cold and it froze me to the core. I hid under piles of blankets to keep my demons warm, but the fabric smelt like us and it only fueled the bitterness in my eyes. I could not even admire the flowers, never mind touch them. I imagined myself destroying them in my palm, much like you had done to me with every ungentle touch and every forced word through gritted teeth.

The summer promised warmth, but you promised love and I have yet to feel either. I was still frozen, I was still stuck in winter even if the sun kissed my skin. The ocean looked like your eyes and I will never forget your stare as long as the ocean remains a deep blue. The tide reminded me of every embrace you'd push away from, but I'd always come back for more because you remained there like the sand that matched the color of your hair. You were essentially always my ocean, but your ocean drowned me and I'm still recovering from every gasping breath and every un-spoken cry for an escape.

The salty ocean kissed my skin before the tide pulled it away again. Ill never forget the way the sun reflecting on my drenched skin reminds me of your shoulder the time I cried on it and left tear stains on your shirt as proof that you were once mine. This seems to be my only proof that the words "I love you" once escaped from your lips because I never hear them anymore and the small flower buds I saw when the seasons changed have begun to wilt the same way your feelings for me did, when I could no longer handle being used.

Fall came closer and I could hear it in your words and see it in your eyes when your gaze became more lifeless than your touch. I watched us both fall through the branches of empty promises we formed along side our webs of fading emotions which never seemed to soften our landing as we planned. The sky darkened the same time our chances at being okay again did, and I think I could see love's flame burning out inside of my own body, except I'm not so sure that the flame I was feeling was every actually ever love or just a rush of feelings and helpless falling into the pits of our disillusions.

The leaves were full of color and full of life, but there was little life in your words, and they fell into piles of lies. I wanted to jump in them, but I could hear the crunch of time when I was forced to choose if I would let you continue to touch me with an untruthful hand, or if I would leave as fast as the summer had.

I'm not so sure which month I would prefer to die in. To be honest, I died in all of them. Winter came back and the familiar fear of icy roads and bitter words were all I had left. I don't think I would last more than three months in winter, but spring left little hope. I was as fragile as every petal, on every flower, on every bush. I was broken by your words but to die in spring was to die by your hand and that is a fate I could never obtain in a peaceful manner.

The heat from summer approached and I swear I could feel your touch in every beam of sunlight that hit my skin. The warm rays hit my neck like the kisses you planted there and trailed down my spine like seeds that were meant to grow flowers inside of me. Or at least that's what I thought. Every cold fall day raised goose bumps of fear on my skin with the uncertain thoughts multiplying in my head. The seasons still change every year much like you did every time I thought I understood you.  I hoped one day the seasons would find a balance and allow my heart to beat at ease again; but that has yet to happen and I still live every day in fear that you'll bring another winter storm to me again.

Loving you in the form of forced "I love you"'s between every touch, between every doubt inside that screams "no" while you keep screaming "yes" but all I wanted was for you to touch my heart the same way you touched my thighs and grabbed my face unapologetically
Loving you in the form of bare feet on wet pavement similar to the way you carefully walked your way into my mind. I wish every natural disaster would sound like our hurricanes of false "I love you"'s and forced moans

Losing you in the form of blankets on that cold November morning when our hearts were no longer fabricated to beat the same. I never quite forgot the way the frost matched the color of your eyes the day you decided loving me was as worthless as hiding from the monsters that lived in your head.
Losing you in a form quite similar to the closest way we made love; you'd lie with I love you after minutes of me hoping you'd stop. The cadence of your voice became stale and I think I could see winter in your eyes even when I was not looking at you and my sighs became more frostbitten than your words.

Missing you in the form of sweaty palms but you never really were one for holding hands and now your fingers are shaking harder than they did during our first kiss but it wasn't our first kiss I missed, it was every one after that and the way you'd whisper I love you as if one time you truly meant it, just to watch me walk away when I thought I'd had enough.
Missing you in the form of wearing your deodorant every night after years of you being gone because I will never feel safe without your memory. I was clinging to your memory in hopes that these nightmares aren't my reality but you never woke me up and I'm still waiting to be held by your words.

Forgetting you in the form of burnt love letters smothering out your voice in my head but still stinging deeper than any cut you placed on my heart. I still remember the rush of blood to my face the first time we touched, but now I wonder if the heat was a spark in interest or a warning sign. Forgetting you in the form of sleeping the time away, just to see your silhouette in my dreams. I don't trust my own two hands, how can I ever grasp yours again?
Forgetting you was slam poetry except its not beautiful at all and the only thing being slammed is the doors to my heart because I'm not sure if it's safe inside anymore.