DEATH ANGEL
Descending like a death angel to collect
Another red-haired mistake I keep deliberately swimming against,
You land; Iām desperate for your attention, yet crippled by the thought of your touchā
Just like any other man, forever dreaming.
Your eyes looking at mine, scrutinizing my skin and brainā
A dream turned nightmare from which I wake up paralyzed,
To another dream within a dream, again and again.
Asking for a part of me every two days when you require blood,
Every past minute of your silence, a reminder of my lack of self-worth.
But Iām into pain, your cannibalistic ways.
Hungry for your body and mind,
Until you made me lose both, and my appetite.
When you said youād come on my chest,
You went 3 inches deeper.
Made me a friend that same night, and all turned black,
Pulling December two months early.
Hearing its ballads penetrate like icicles through my heart.
Another New Yearās Eve with last yearās resolutions incomplete
As the bells hit midnight.
DEATH ANGEL II
I could see us togetherāI always do.
Call it a curse or Chironās way of making the wound that never heals grow larger,
Turning sentientāmy conjoined thinker,
Whose death would choke me with nettles, mute me of the song of Spring.
Same mistake, different timeline.
Giving my all to one because Iām unable to give less to many.
Have me all to yourself, baring skin to be mangled.
Guys like you always fall through.
Though you were speaking in hidden signs when you told me your favorite teaā
Hibiscus blended with cinnamon and orangeā
Because Iād be the cinnamon, still warm and tanned from Malagaās sun,
And you, my orange sunset-tinted kiss.
Your tea knowledge, insipid, kept me entertained for days.
Shared my recipes with you, ignoring the recipe of disaster weād make the two.
Told you mine was orange blossoms,
A sob story tied to my grandmotherā
And you bought it for yourself the next day. āThatās so sweet.ā
But Iām not a complete fool.
You were playing me, the toy your outer man-child desired, to break me completely.
āVegetarian ginger man-child that wanted me but in piecesā
Is the label Iāll use to revisit you.
Signs forward me onto the red traffic lights.
Believed you were the byproduct of my white magic,
Dismissing the unchecked boxes left in white.
But we checked off the modern fairytale:
You, horny for me, check; me, the attention-whore for you.
āI am the moon,ā you said, so I lit up to be the sun as bright as I could.
Robbed me of my cool, set to zero my days without sad, and I didnāt even like you.
Tried to be what you wanted so weāre each otherās type.
You wanted fun, but Iām the serious kind.
Perhaps I was the moon as I cry in your shadow now, in full gloom,
Eclipsed to wholly be the far side of me.
I didnāt say goodbye. It was implicit from the start,
When a 2-hour train was your insurmountable molehill keeping us apart.
I see us in my made-up timeline,
Where all the men Iāve ever talked to at least once forever exist,
Living the happily-ever-afters absent from my men-free reality.
Taking a peek at each one of you when itās most inconvenient to me.
To ghost-feel, in that highly flammable, wooden-floored kitchen,
In the one-story countryside house hugged by pine trees,
Where I once dreamed I was happy, with just me.
Wish I didnāt write you, make you immortalā
But this is me mourning.
