shikkaku:

i am a leaver.
i think love is a flickering light
a firework that never asked to be
a firework that fades before anyone can really tell its colors apart from the stars.

i am a leaver because
i don’t like the darkness that comes after the explosion.

she keeps every memory in mason jars, opens them when she’s lonely.
she knows i’ll break her and this makes me sad
and ravenous at the same time.

i fuck her in a pastel pink bed.
i see my eyes in hers and they look nothing like they are
they look like the eyes of something merciful
something that will keep her warm during storms.

but i am a leaver.

i tell her i am a leaver and she smiles.
we don’t really speak in tongues about love and loneliness
she has a healing touch and every sad thing i say just disappears
like a ghost in the mist.

now every time i kiss her she tastes
like strawberry gasoline
the taste of blood on your teeth after you fall
the taste of spit after you cried for days.

i am a leaver, i say
and my hands start to search for an exit
a quick fix for a misery i have in my cells
like a genetic disorder no cure can mend.

i am a leaver, i cry
and my voice sounds like a million splinters of glass from a shattering chandelier in the house of my dreams falling on the really expensive carpet we bought just to show everyone how happy we are together and
now
every single splinter of glass is scarring me and what am i supposed to do?

i am a leaver, but
her hand on my head seems to be playing with my thoughts
like a cat with some twine
she unravels them with her fingers.

i try to repeat
i am a leaver
but i’m so tired my voice is just feeble so
maybe i’ll rest some more
maybe i’ll stay.

maybe this time i’ll enjoy the fireworks.