Please, don’t take this out on me
‘Cause you’re the only thing that’s keeping me alive
And I don’t wanna wait for the down-set date
Cause I would rather end it all tonight
And if I mean anything to you
I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind!
Last night, I dreamed of you.
I’m haunted by perpetual visions of your flayed skin, your mutilated flesh hanging off your pallid wrists and chest loosely, bloodshot eyes staring at me in a soundless remorseful discourse. Pieces of sempiternal agony peel off your body in shredded sinews and fall intrinsically on the stained floor, crashing in cascades of reverent disdain and charlatan confessions, colliding with concrete, ringing as loud as midnight bells at a funeral, suspended leaks of scarlet contrasting dramatically with your silver ring. Ivory-washed bones prodded itself from out your mangled shoulder blade in painful angles, compassed spine breaking audibly, and your excruciating anguish reverberated throughout the room, suffocating my lungs. You were broken. Injured, damaged and dilapidated at every possible recourse. Was I wrong to think that you looked goddamn beautiful?
Your sepia eyes seemed to suck me in. They hid invisible anathema, as your lightning-stricken lips spoke fervently of an ancient tale, a dawning disambiguation unlike this damned universe has ever strung together. I was overwhelmed by every calculated idea, every lusted bereavement, every betrayed rumination and endowed sensibility that pierced and tortured that exquisitely-lacerated mind of yours, resplendent writings and rancid words accidentally getting caught in the barbed wires of your entangled sable hair and never making it past the graffitied red brick wall, leaving only tattered pieces of a squandered afterthought fluttering like scrap paper or torn body bags, caught up in fences of rusted mesh, languid and waiting patiently to join the rueful waltz of the stubborn wind. Was it my treacherous mistake to try to put them back together, instead of setting them free?
You were screaming. Your swollen metal throat was rising and falling in explosive intonations of imminent detonation and wasteland reveries, sending chills crawling like aggravated insects down my backbone. It was a disastrous sanctuary, your blessed hell perilous below, while heaven enshrouds above us like a stagnant disorientation. Songs of chronic migraines and reconciling nightmares intertwining elaborately made me beg epileptically for more, yet you never surrendered. Your fluid voice appeared to tangibly cut through me like a raging maelstrom of blades and alcohol, each exiling raindrop lethally sharp, stinging, seething, sedating, the striking precipitation more painful than the last. I am admittedly and ashamedly sinful. I have only myself to atone for my scarred mentality. Was I the renegade soldier who pulled the pin from your heart, fettered like a hand grenade between my merciless fingers?
Your calloused hands were bare and flaccid. They held no mellifluous instruments, only dead air and static asthenia. I desperately reached for them, the way I used to reach for unconscious stars but never quite make it past the horizon, yet my trembling nicotine-stained fingertips barely grazed the soles of your feet. Desire intervened with revulsion. Your liquid touch was rueful and bilious, and it clung to my papyrus skin like abrasive brier thorns on a shorn silk wedding dress. Your suspicious tears rose up in suffocating tendrils of pewter smoke, gasoline fluid flirting with pillars of a ravenous fire, and it burned words into my throat that I wouldn’t dare set loose past my tongue. The perdition was adamant and stern, glaring like a shot arrow past and through the ubiquitous veils, slashing horizontal lines and painting calamities all over my past wounds. I’ve fumbled for faith and I lost it. Is there any chance that these cicatrices would fade into discernible reality…is there any hope at all that I would recover at all?
You. You stood there silently in clashing bouts of disenchantment and contrition, staring at me hollowly, frozen in a resolute resignation, overlooking my ruinous devastation like a dystopian entity. I quailed at your omniscient presence as I huddled in cowardice in a corner, failing taciturnly in a blank stupor, vacillating on the verge of an oncoming breakdown. At that moment, time was evasive and irrelevant. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t try to stop me. You never moved. You didn’t merely murmured a sorrowful apology, your soft whisper barely audible against the clamour of the infuriated voices in my head, each interlaced butterfly letter striking me like a full metal jacket bullet and making me drop the blade out of pure shock at the impact; the one I was holding against my pulse so readily, ready to gnash its teeth through my lifeline. Death was kissing my hand flirtatiously, ready to take me in its graceless romance, yet somehow I still drew away unreasonably. My hurtling world is set on a tectonic plate, and it was set to drift apart in a crash collision, yet I’m unable to form undiscovered islands of a new beginning, for my dissolving pangaea is still arbitrarily constricted and tightly tethered to you, veering around your gravity’s reckless orbit. Your vicious disease is my apostle’s remedy, and your existence is a thread strung around my neck, needle embedded in my heart, keeping me hanging on, but barely. I’m shivering madly at your frigid soul. You’re so far away, you’re virtually a parallel dimension, yet you’re only inches away from my stuttering heartbeat. This is…this is arrogant madness. Don’t…please don’t try to save me. Why…why can’t you simply just let me go?
It is morning. I am not yet awake.
I’ve been having this dream that we can fly
So darling close your eyes
‘Cause you’re about to miss everything!
About to miss everything…