lover
Category: Poems
Current mood:  sleepy

I can take your own life from you any second, but what will I get in return?  the suffering will be divided equally between us, I’ll give you part of mine, don’t mind, I have a bunch of them, thanks for giving them to me once upon a time, I still keep them near my heart, somewhere inside my ribs.  but what will I get in return?  sticky and viscous burgundy liquid with the smell of glands flowing from the back of the head along dyed blond hair and around the neck to your favorite t-shirt and beige pants, as well as a disgusting headache?  maybe you want to eat sushi or some other chinese sh*t?  no?  oh.. you’re not in the mood rn, okay, then I'll give you a little show, hara-kiri will be cool right?  darling, can I take the most precious and valuable thing you own?  what?  can't understand what I mean?  I’m talking about your own life sir. you’re saying that you’re not afraid of the death?  I’ll look at you from below or maybe from the side in a couple of hours.  am I crazy?  perhaps, but not a fact!!!  I’m sure of only one thing, I know you won’t ask, but I’ll answer anyway.  you are dead.  oh babe you still do not understand what am I talking about? you always loved your f*cking colors more than me!  you spent hours and hours with them, forgetting to spend at least one f*cking minute with me.  rubbed this watercolor, gouache, even f***ing oil with acrylic on your skin, which I wanted to kiss, touch, cherish and cherish, warm, so that your hands remain tender, even cold.  but because of this shįt they are constantly peeling, dry and irritated.  I have a lot in common with you, for example, your lovely hands and my dead heart feel the same thing every day.  I don’t feel anything when I understand that the poison in your colors I mixed for you is almost inside you my sweet heart and kills faster than you might think.  it’s deep beneath your skin, and ironically, you selflessly rubbed it into yourself. you didn’t know that you would die, die, die, DIS AP PEAR, dissolve in water and leave dirty stains on yellow paper.  ironically, we are still so similar, but at the same time so different!  you are paint – beautiful, bright, old, dried up, expensive, cheap, stolen, lost, most beloved, different, the one I always use, the one that will kill me, but before than that I will paint a picture and take you with me.  I will paint all the walls with words of hatred towards you, despair, some scribbles that don’t  have the slightest significance, only to spend you to the end.  all the people would call it toxicity, death, self-destruction, selfishness, disgust.  I call it love.  because if they suggested me to forget everything that was happening, erase and live through other events, never meet you and weave tangled networks of feelings and just live calmly in love and harmony, I would say no.  and what would you say, my dear?  if you thought for a minute, you would say yes and after a second you would pray to return it all back, rewind time and give it to us.  and then everything repeats in a circle, everything is the same, because I know you as myself. I don’t know you at all.