missing

<sub>you wrap me up in ocean water-born smoke of the midnight aegean seas, the misty wisps suspiring into my ears as your sweet serenade fingers trail sonata whispers down and around my ribcage. these shoulders of hundred-mile journeys should suffice for the safety of the norway fjords. your fingers trace the trembling arteries down my arm and linger at the mass of veins at my wrist, sweeping sadly over the harsh remnants of selfish black nights.


some days, i wish you were heartless too.

life is supposed to be good; i wish i could make yours better. december nights are for people together. you are warm but sometimes it's just hard. i push you away, walk to cool corners, and allow myself to hug me instead.

none of it is fair; i know you'd jump canyons just to steady me but i just can't get better for you.


your silk jasper fingers free tangles in my hair and i talk into the air, "why do you bother? it'll only tangle again." the world seems a never-ending circle of showers and powdered plastic and sweet nothings and repeat repeat repeat. it's all the same and it'll never end.


some nights i hear you crying silently through the walls. i pull my covers over my head and turn my back towards the bedroom door, but it's never quiet enough, never dark enough.

in the morning you are new and strong, ready to try and tape me up again.
i've never had the heart to tell you, or maybe i'm just too tired, but with depression comes emptiness that brings a strange solace; meaning these days is as infinitely transient as the length of my ember hair, and such i see in you is no exception.

--

life is supposed to be love; it can be either a dream-come-true fairy tale, or it can be a tragic, empty wishing well. some people just don't want to save themselves; live for the living, don't live for the dead.</sub>