your love was
the opposite of a kiss
[and my dreams were a daydream
disguised as a nightmare];
your hands held tightly gripped
around your own throat
was a sign i later realized
to be that of a dream
[after all, you were never once
concerned enough with yourself
to spend even just a day
torturing anyone but me]
your nails dug into your bruising veins
with unrelenting strength
as blood seeped underneath
[it was certainly an odd sight to see,
your perfectly manicured nails
seeing a speck of something
you considered unholy]
if we had changed places
- with your hands around me -
you would've stopped
at the first signs of blood.
the first time i thought
i had figured out that this dream
was a nightmare,
was when your teeth pulled
up into a wicked grin
while your fingers painted
murals with blood
over my bare back
[i should've know that this
was my brain warning me
that i shouldn't believe
everything i see:
the things we all believe
to be the worst of it all,
might not even reach the surface
of all the truly painful memories
we can create together]
the moment i finally realized
this dream wasn't a nightmare at all
was when i felt my own pulse
through my wrists settle
into an abnormally slow pace,
maybe this was a sign
that my own relief was in death?
because if this was a nightmare
you'd have put all of your attention
into creating a reality
where i couldn't breath
but i would never full drown
[that would be far too easy of a death
and i could maybe
live with loving you then,
and you just couldn't have that
now could you?]
YOU ARE READING
escapril '20
Poetrysome more poems every day in april! here's yet another collection of poems i wrote for (almost) everyday in april. from the writing prompt challenge by savannah brown on instagram (@letsescapril).
