Don't Try [Poetry]

firebug fandango

firebug fandango

october12twenty19

the face of my partner is deformed, glitching in three-four time. strangely scented. the warmth of our love burned me up to a crisp, and reconstruction has been long.

it's been frustrating that my thoughts are so twisted and my words are left out hanging. there's a new distraction this year, but he isn't as interesting (yet). busy untangling suicidal musings, buying bookends. best to nip that in the bud, hm?

of course, he is a little interesting. definitely warm, but so damn full of fire. it hurt so bad to be scorched by an apologetic sun. my feet beg me to find a partner who won't dance me to flames. 

but I can see it in his eyes, subtle smile. sounding so dangerous, and I'm usually in such a bad mood. closure (still) sure is hell. 

pulse tingling, callouses watchful and whispering. what a disaster we might be. what a flash of lights and color and hurt. the scars really can't get any worse (not that I'd notice).

it's always distance. everything always breaks except for the yardsticks. afraid to touch, afraid to talk. sharpening. sharpening.

oh, I'm gonna cut him. next time I need to make sure the marks will show. i'm such a pyromantic. oh, we're gonna be wounded. 

and you're off in the wind. good luck.