i will die with your name on my lips
because there is nothing else i'll need to say.
you are my coffin, my funeral pyre.
as my bones disintegrate, popping and snapping,
you will greedily swallow my ashes
until nothing is left of me but secondhand smoke.
i've danced with you, love, across hospital tile,
the scent of antiseptic cloying as valentine's chocolate.
you dipped me into unconsciousness,
and i willingly closed my eyes.
the intrusion of your scalpel teeth no longer scares me.
you, my rigor mortis soul mate, always take me under.
your tent of frostbitten shelter pulls me down, an anchor,
while i gag on pills too abstract to save me.
forgive me, lungs, of my cigarette abuse,
but i've found happiness in a reaper's cloak.
i find comfort in these carcinogens.
i've made my nest in a swaying tree,
my body destroyed by the nauseous rocking.
they smile at me with pity in their eyes,
scribbling nonsense on those jaw-like clipboards.
their crisp, stark white world still has faith in me,
yet i know i can only let them down.
don't they understand that you and i are meant to be?
our somber engagement is as inevitable as nightfall.
no matter my choices, i will die by your hand.
my heart is connected to yours by i.v. lines,
intersecting and crisscrossing blood cells.
bedside lily petals crumble to blackened mulch,
falling in the tortoise suture of time.
it invades flowers as it invades me.
this melodramatic sink into death is killing me.
i wish to leave quickly, hit bloodied pavement with a gunshot,
but we do not choose the disaster that ends us.
i will leave a bitter brown aftertaste
on these plain white walls