Could've been poetic

Half-reds and red wine

I ripped the life out of you

And you splattered my skin through words made of viscera and sun;

You flooded my soul with letters I dare not send you;

You stole the rationality away as we fucked each other on that couch;

I stored your fears in the pockets of Winter

And I have no space left for one more silence.

I missed you

And you bled out of my eyes;

I mourned you sad songs in case Nostalgia came back and cherished us;

In case you should dawn with the desire of yesterday but with no tomorrow.

I emptied my skin of other bodies

And you yawned my name between your fingers and mine.

You held my nervous sorrow in your arms

And it was not an embrace but life within itself;

You tightened your chest against me

And I then noticed how the stab wounds were driven even deeper;

I had no control over my voluntary instincts

And your cologne took it upon itself to poison the remaining oxygen;

My neck attempted to entangle itself around yours

And time was no longer eternal, instead it remained a memory;

You crawled into my entrails, so endearing.

Autumn was grey.

You stole my cigarettes

And my lungs ceased to breathe your verses;

You returned me like an out-of-date figment to the trunk of oblivion.

Still I continue imagining your return in order to finish what you started.