~Lying beside him, sound asleep
Was the shape of his whole world
He felt the rise and fall of breath
Around which his heart was curled
They sat together, for hours after
To the world, unseen
Clutching to heatstroke images
Of deep blue lost in green.
They loathed the restless nights
Minuscule, between the earth and sky
Hated the frostbite hours
Sunless and trembling
Plagued by even duller sapphire eyes
Now there is little sleep
Drowning in the syrup-thick anguish
That trickles into his lungs and denies his right to breathe.
He cannot remember well
What happened in between
He remembers only the emptiness
The taste of ink on his tongue
The worried emerald eyes
So deep and pure and gentle
Yet mockingly serene.
He feels gentle fingers caress his face
Leaving behind streaks
Of thick and clammy ink
His eyes drift close
He finds himself falling
Into places he cannot name
Becoming lost in swirling galaxies
Sapphire lost in emerald green.
He found his heart had greyed.
A cool bed.
An empty room.
Where at once, they both knew
That they’d somewhat expected, all along
What the other one would do.
He cannot hope for this
This isn’t how it goes
He isn’t meant for this
He’s not ready for this
He’d never be ready for this
His soul comes crashing low.
He left behind the inky patches
Like ink blots on the pages
of an obsolete book
He won’t open his eyes
He won’t look
Doesn’t have to know he’s alone
There’s no point
in not letting tears flow.
Why try to forget?
He will cling to it
He had everything he’d ever wanted.
At least the memories can stay.
He carried in
Anguish blossoming within him
But inside, grey.
His anger is burning fever bright.
Not at himself
Not at the body he craved to have beside him
He was angry at the world and its cruelty
Angry at the world and it’s sickness
And all the things it has denied him.
He’s angry at the damned disease
That spilled from his lips
And dribbled down his chin
And stained his sleeves and fingertips
He casts his heavy emerald gaze
Across the tumbling waters
Sharp obsidian waves, capped with frothy white
He feels his heart coil up in dread
For they look like the ink
And black as sleepless nights.
Hopelessly, he cries out
Hoping he was heard.
Wishing he was still here.
Missing everything about him.
Wishing that everything was okay.
He just wants to feel one more touch.
Hold him one last time.
Tenderly squeeze his hand.
Feel the hot breath against his neck .
Brush the tears from his cheeks .
Kiss him softly on his thin lips.
Taste the ink on his tongue.
Even just a smile would do.
Horrors, heart wrenching deep
Tendrils of ink
Dragging him into inky seas of anguish
Like a maiden, he doth weep.
The sand weighs him down
Exhaustion doing more.
Is it ending?
He thinks it’s ending
Now if only
He could remember what it’s for.
He misses everything about him
Every little flaw
He misses the way he’d whimper his sleep
He misses the way he cared.
He misses the smell of coffee .
The attention he’d receive.
He misses him.
Thoughtless and robotic
No longer finding his emotions
He cuts down on the things that were alive.
He wonders if, that along the way
Parts of him
Had withered down
He shuddered as his lungs hacked up
A mix of hope and flowers
That nestled on the ground before the tomb
This time there was nobody there
To pin his bangs back as he heaved
He was a thread
Now all used up
Within weft and weave
Of Fate’s greatest plan
There was nothing left
A part of him whispered leave.
And so he did .
And so he did.
And he left behind .
The only one.
Who could have eased his mind .
Who could have settled his soul