This I must confess
That I wonder when you will wake up and realize
What I truly am.
Because for all my fanciful thoughts and fairytales
This I must confess,
I will never fall in love.
You on the other hand are so trusting,
A naive soul believing that such whimsicality exists.
Innocent little thing.
I will tuck your shadow into my pocket,
Nails leaving scars as I
Slip beneath your skin,
Into the veins and arteries
Until I burrow into your chest
And curl up in the hollow where your heart used to be.
I will whisper cotton candy words into your ear;
smile painted on my lips
As I pour kerosene on open wounds
and light the match.
(Still think I’m beautiful?)
These pretty little hands will reach in and
carve daggers from your bones.
Somehow I think you would find it romantic
if I told you about the way
your dark eyes glow like ashes and dying embers,
reflections of your cities burning to the ground.
I can’t look away from this civil war;
the scars etched across your back,
pulse a frantic tattoo in your fight for survival,
Every nerve of your body I have not numbed screams in warning,
Yet that trust refuses to waver
even as I strip you of all that makes you human.
Your heart is in my hands.
(Please wake up.)