my throat, that eats my trust and spat out breaths that
falters on your feet? this was in desperate measure, when
we moved on your bed, and i reconciled my
sacrifice for you, like how i thought it should be.
i sacrificed my chains to your neck, and let you fly.
but then you landed and nested on another continent,
and traverse in a land that made my flag desolated in mud.
how did you open a heart of sensitivity? or maybe it
has slept in me, numb in the cocoon, blooming
by trudging on our keys. or when you called it out,
as loud, as it rings through my rooms, and knocking.
you opened the door, and then it lay shattered on
the floor, it is licking your blood and my
perverse desire for absolution. but i called it for
feeling intimate, to let it dance with me whenever
i felt someone else walking in your rooms, someone else
frolicking in the chair, sipping coffee and left her
notes on the wall. then you threw it away, but at the
same time, i threw yours to mine away too. i said,
i am beginning to lose hope. i am the beginning.
you began to hang myself all around you again, and
you granted me that sense of authority, and then
you caressed me. and i wanted more, and you wanted more.
i am not a larvae, but a slug, seeping through
the leaves that you grew from me. i drank the coffee.
i am the cracked china on your hands, on your map.
i am still serving you your dominance, but now i fell
into the damp weather and left myself drinking
my own rustic water. i serve myself the dirt,
and i serve you my finest streams, the chill the warmth.
i live in this house. it is rightfully mine.
isn't it? how do i have the key?
is it because i am good for you? why, for now,
feeling i am lacking, i am low and crumpled
is how i am supposed to be? what about you?
Someone who is supposedly good at everything,
but also good for me to feel content
yet good for me to ruin everything?
afi ; fire.