Half A Year


It’s a patient wait, an alluring one.
To wait for the chemicals to flood through my bloodstream, a natural disaster, a beautiful mesmerizing destruction.
 Like much of everything, we are aware it won’t last. The candle spilling hot wax, evaporating its scent into your darkened room until it has ran cold, until morning stumbles its drunken bewilderness upon your face. You again? 
The guilt is hung up in the shadows
 of your room, And when you cry all the colors drain from your eyes, like the pale icy water blueberries leave behind. Those chemicals, they leave behind tremors of old lovers, the stale taste of their tongues and the scent of their neck. Fresh in your mind, like gently waking up to the smell of a simmering breakfast. 
Before you are miniature, you are in a balancing act of sweet relation accompanied with senseless bottomless hope. You have been making your way down a dark, dismal well for years. And at the bottom, you were accompanied by the same despair as your own, in a foreign form. But wait,
There are terms and conditions, laws to abide by. Punishment, realities. 
I will see you down at the bottom, I will pick you up and put you on my shoulders with the undying notion that you would never do the same. I am holding on, one fingertip upon your clothing, I am not worthy enough to feel the heat radiating through the closest lair to your heart any longer. I find myself, avoiding the attractions of others, their calls and badgering vibrations on my phone. But when it’s you, I pick it apart, you have burned one too many holes in my skin with your ever magnifying glass. In the chaos, and the midst of reaching every daily feat, I stop dead in my tracks and your face shoves its way through like you wanted it to. I am hungry for your butterflies. You plucked them from my stomach, carelessly one by one. I begged for one promise to be kept, one compliment meant for me only. You did not let them live. I am swelling with the things you have given back, although not neatly wrapped, you say atleast they are wrapped… 
The chemicals I crave the most are yours. I will fill my bed with strangers, and hold on to their superficial compliments like I earned them, like it flatters me. I will search the telephone lines in their palms back to you. I will strain my tears through others, for you. I will stare into the sun, will it make me blind?
It’s a patient wait, an alluring one.