B R E A T H E

f o o l

i'd let you take all the winds out of my lungs

i'd let you starve me for your touch

i'd let you tear my skin and dig into my organs

i'd let you take a sip of my blood

i'd let you feast on the demons in my head

i'd let you trace my heart with your claws

i'd let you rip me like a piece of paper

i'd let you break me like an empty wine glass

i'd let you bathe me in poison

i'd let you kiss me with your dead mouth

i'd let you give me a thousand small deaths as i gasp your name underwater

i'd let you do it all, over and over, in the name of love

and you'd do it, in the blink of an eye, screaming the name of a god that has the same face as me

because in the end,
we're just like them— those fools in love

the ones who built graveyards and slept above the buried corpses of their lovers

because, if i have to be a fool, i would rather be a fool in love.