Comfortable in my tight-fitting skin,
Blissful in this change
- this break from reality -
and though the grass grows green beneath my feet,
dry gravel falls from my pasty hands;
And the bold red apples
Hinder the foreign tongue in my mouth.
There is still some black splinter inside of me,
some cruel infection
that cannot be squeezed out
though the swelling resides,
and the side-effect has been countered by
His heart, His warmth
when yours was wrapped in raw rejection.

I do not wish for you;
you were never my north star
or path to perfection,
but you still hold
a certain affection
over me, which I can’t escape.
I am in love now, happy,
and you are mostly forgotten –
silenced by the blaring smiles I had not known.
Yet,
when I retreat into my Abyss of Absence,
My memory still rewinds the dejection,
and though the tape runs out,
it never really fades,
I am never really free.

I love Him.
So why won’t you die?
I’ve drowned you, and I’ve strangled you,
I’ve hung you, and I’ve shot you. But
you are spared by your disease of disinterest
and vague description.
He cures me from you,
but the parasitic villain inside
would prefer me to never be truly myself,
never lose the protection of hard words
and evil spawning like tadpoles
to spring at me, just in case
He turns out to be you.

The only difference being:
He is not you.
He is more than you could ever be,
ever were.

I have no delusions
- I know where I am now,
and I know where I want to be.
Forever
in his arms,
not yours.
Never yours.
Never yours.