for my unaware arsonists

curse

Is this what it feels like?
To converse through your soul?
And to care for every tiny creak of it?

While I pattern the floorboards with my feet,
I can feel your gaze linger on me,
As if I were the most admired paegent queen out here selling dreams,
To think you had once got me believing-
You could see through everything but my heart.
   But our meetings, they are clandestine.
  We are something that our universes resist.
So thank heavens, these walls can't talk.

I won't lie, I am scared.
Chasing you meant shedding my blood and draining my soul,
Hunting for bits and pieces of time,
To steal and to savour and to lock it away in cases,
And send them away to be hidden.
Then dropping off to the ground, half-dead
Dreaming about blue butterfly skeletons on gray gravestones.

Being with you means worse.
It means dodging bullets and running from killers in a dark avenue.
It means losing the hands that held me tight
And shielded me from all the storms and floods
And shared my laughter and my tears.
But absurdly enough, those same hands
Would brew up this universe's perfect storm
And break and wreck and tear us apart,

For I share her damned lover.

Loving you means losing my face and falling hard from all that grace.
It means becoming the villain in someone else's lore,
To be the one peeling skin off with venom tipped daggers
And dancing away with blood stains on me.
Loving you means hating the very people who once put stars in my sky,
Whom I adored innocently.

And when I've been asked, whether you're worth all that risk,
Bless me for I look away, mumbling "he's worth way more."

I would give up all my friendships and my grace,
If it means being with you.

There's no stronger curse than that of love.