you throw knives in my direction and I see them as
flowers
funny only the red ones are contagious
(my skin turns red)
you throw diamonds in the air and laugh when it's
outrageous
(funny how I disagree)
I never meant to seem so crazy but these nightmares
abound and I like the way we flirt,
death and me, :
I like the way you return to me:
not robed-black like everyone supposes but seductive
and luring into a tempting pain
what does one do with such symptoms,
how does one resist such allure?
(funny how I consult my hostage-taker)
there are dreams filling me like a pregnant balloon
from the inside but they too are empty and closer to nightmares.
full of empty, no-weight negativity and unexplained
black space.
my heart through my stomach crumbles and I'm left
with the overwhelming sensitivity that spills out of my body like
blood
into the garden of roses which you grew to,
yet again,
create confusion in mind.
I secretly imagine our fortress,
smile slightly and wipe tears when they're still dry
what of the path which you frequent so casually?
what of the reminder of our proximity?
it is the middle of the night and I feel too much
from everyone else and all I feel from me is:
overwhelming
(as a noun, not as an adjective missing its partner)
though, on second thought, perhaps that is the best
description:
I'm an adjective missing my noun.
what of this paradoxical calligraphy?
of these inked letters which form mostly coherent
yet probably uninformative, messy lines?
have I made my dependency on our unfortunate circumstance
clear?
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