You come over at 3am and I’m tired.
Whilst drinking my gin, you tell me stories of your night and fill the ashtray with your cigarettes.
It is 7am and you leave after one kiss.
So I’m sat here finishing that drink and smoking the cigarettes you left.
Now I’m wide awake, wondering how the hours went by because you always come.
Then walk away.
I lay beside your body and your silence filled my lungs.
I can feel the tingle of my fingers as I stroked your chest.
Your heart beat protruded through your skin and I felt the pain of a thousand dying stars.
In the glory of death, they have never glistened so bright. They were beautiful to the naked eye, just as you were naked.
You were beautiful.
In that moment, sorrow swirled through your tired eyes and I knew, I knew the pain you felt.
How it crippled your lungs and made your hands shake.
I knew what it had done to you, how it had encaged you in a life of broken dreams.
I knew what it was doing to you.
How it was tying your tongue to your throat to choke the words that could set you free.
I knew that I could not fight it for you but be there by your side, to see you through the war against your mind.
The moonlight laid against our skin and our eyes met, your lips parted and a shiver ran through my veins.
I could hear your thoughts through the shadows of the room as if they were projected onto the walls around us.
You did not talk but you pressed your lips against my skin and that was all the words you could never know how to begin.
I sat on the cold ground of the smoke-filled room.
I can’t see your face but I can hear your whispers. For they scar deep beyond my dreams. To the bone, your broken promises cut my porcelain skin.
In the mild lit day of the afternoon, strangers pass me, some stay, but one will never leave.