lovely | poetry

to drown

once, i met a boy who was drowning
on the surface of the sea, with a salty heat on my tongue
i was boldness outlined in honey gold, born of soft dawn upon the rose sky, born of sugar curls and rounded shoulders and a body melding into sweet cream
i was gentle touch wound around a chaotic center, cool as the kiss of seafoam, yet dragged too long beneath the waves
i was a boiling center of a hurricane and he was a hailstorm boy with caramel words and a throat that burned with his scalding whispers
he was raging flame against the surface of scorching skin, searing brush of vermillion fingers desperately searching for the innocence of cleansed veins while his blood turned charred onyx in the presence of his own venom
he told me things i had never heard before
because a hailstorm boy like him knew how to twist the storm inside me into a neat coil, just for one night
he knew how to find intoxication in the tender flesh of a girl seemingly unmarred, and he reveled in the taste of sweet sunset dust against his hungering lips, even if i could feel the tinge of smoke trailing his clammy skin
he sought in me, the saturation he'd traded in place of the poison
and i thanked him for a sip of that searing, curdling drought because nothing had ever tasted so thrilling
for a moment, he made me dizzy enough to forget the borders of my body, to forget the smears of color outlining my existence, and we were insubstantial
we were infinite smudges against the canvas of a decaying reality, and for a night, my bones were no longer ashen gray, sickened by a cold disease, but golden things melting within me
ichor flowing, eyes bright, and lips pressing poppy blossoms to hands
though he was not what i had asked for, he knew how to hold the bloodied hearts of scarred up girls like me
he knew i would fall so fast and fall so hard simply because i could get drunk on his voice, the heat of sour breath masked by saccharine syrup and foggy amaranth pink
he knew that girls like me had turned sad inside
and he knew that he was being nicer to me than i had ever been to myself
so he drew hot hands along my contusions and praised them long enough for my own eyes to deceive me
he ignored the faint scent of blood, the lingering ash of a battle fought at the center of a fire
and he acted as though my sugary softness were enough to melt the bitterness of his corrupted being
bloodshot eyes and aching breath, a heart that beat so slow
he was bruised fists broken by shattered mirrors and the silhouettes of boys tearing themselves apart
he smiled something tragic, and charged towards the waters while screaming that he was afraid to drown
but i was drowning, and i had been for so long
that even drunk on his voice and lost in his touch, i knew he was sinking to the bottom of the sea
he sought in me, the taste of honeydew on candy teeth, and the spongey feel of cake skin sliding beneath his palms
but he got it wrong
i was not like those girls he devoured in careful, teasing bites with only the aftertaste of dulled bile
i was the vessel of carved out words and empty chests, of sunken eyes and peeling tissue and rotten dirt everywhere
i was gaping holes where teeth should be and tongues burned by acrid sickness
i was the vessel of a being ruined by the storm, by the sea, worse than any hail he could bring down upon me
and if i was burning in his hands, it was not because of his smoky heat, or his soured breath, or his broken words
if i was burning, it was because i set myself on fire
because i sought out his crimson eyes and crimson mouth, and i reveled in the taste of his poison, of his destruction
it was because i didn't mind the feeling of two decaying hearts whispering suicide songs to each other
and it was because i was white sheets in whiter rooms, and bodies left to fall apart
i was gritty hair and gray flesh, i was battered and torn apart
i was the silhouettes of girls who squeezed out the blood in their veins, who drained the marrow in their soggy bones, who clawed themselves out of their own bodies
because yes, he was drowning
but i had already been drowned

you're not drowned. not yet. and your body is not a vessel for disease. it is not a collection of scars or a malfunctioning machine or a sweet cake for ruined boys to devour. you are still at the surface and the sea is cradling you. she whispers of your beauty, and of the life in your blood. she holds you, and she pleads for you. she begs that a beautiful child of the moon should feel no more pain. she asks for the pain to ease soon.

you're not drowned.

the pain will ease.

i love you.