Whisper In My Ear The Secrets I Hate To Love

Ambiguity

You take from me what I refuse to accept,
But yes, I guess it isn't mine.
In a sense it's something infinitesimal,
But yes, I guess there's a deeper meaning
Which only you seem to be able to find.
Perhaps it's my own perplexity, that
Makes you desire a substance to meld for yourself,

For it to be in your control, and not remain

Ambiguous - whatever that means - in the eyes of

Anguished hell.

Fire, and blood, and anguish -
Inner turmoil to say the least.
When your blood turns savage without
Any particular meaning, maybe.
You just revel in pain, maybe

You deem it as a serendipitous encounter, maybe,
You're just so fucked up you love the things you supposedly hate,
And hate the things you supposedly love. 

I take your word for it, that you have aspiration:
Your fleeting incantations
Prove to be a motivator

But yet, I guess
You've got something slowing you down.

Your hilarity becomes audible in the way

Paper touches skin

Knuckles touch lines

As the lead and your emotions become inversely proportionate:

Your manic elation perforating the fortifications between us,

Between you.

I'd never witnessed anything more serene,

Until the first time I'd truly lay my eyes upon you.
Within a stagnancy of deafening silence, yet comfortable,
Undoubtedly, the agitation which once marked the crinkles,

The creases
On the vertices of your lips, were now
Blank.
All outward discernment stripped.
But that apparent nothingness, my friend,
Is peculiar, except not really.

It was just a moment in which you let your true colours slip.