This I must confess

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.)


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