moonlight requisition

I don’t want to let go of you, you’re hanging from the tiniest thread, you’re my link to past memories that meant everything even if they weren’t heaven sent, I can’t be your escape as you look up to me and plead.

How can I help you when you won’t give me what I need, once I’d sleep beside you in peace now all I do is dream of being free. Take out every stitch, unpick every seam, you’re left with empty hands and nothing but a dream.

What binds you to your soul? What centres your be-ing? If you can’t live uninterrupted, what is the point in being esteemed? Snowflakes lick my skin reminding me of your cold kisses in the sun, it makes no difference as it’s not as if we actually begun.

Each of us to the other’s skull presses against the hard flesh of a gun, staring deep into fragmented windows, words don’t even come close into our existence never mind being spoken. Out loud, heavy air weighs upon separated spines.

Your hand was my hand and we were always right, riding high, crest of waves against the fresh sense of the sky, blackness surrounds us shuttering stuttering innocent stars too sublimely shy, to witness an imbalance in undying warmongering cries.

Cold seeps through our skin infiltrating our ribcage; skeletal hands, bony fingers holding shattered hearts ingrained a thousand times consumed with rage. Everlasting parades play again and again, maiming identical memories seething contempt under bows of hailing rain.

Breathing thunder under serene masquerades, each to the other thinking each to another places shaping blame, splinters of glass cut through emptiness falling into a bottomless pit, you spit my name from your lips one last dig, deleting out that you were ever meant:

To be mine. Denying lines were written for only my eyes, you grabbed my axe and snapped it back in three confiscating shiny dimes: I am headless; you are heartless, incomplete shadows restless until the end of rhyme.

I seize the day, you see the night, I release the moon, you re-lease the light, and it begins again, when, once upon a time, we were reflecting inwards and outwards; onwards and upwards; towards a point where it was only us that mattered and: in an instant,

every syllable is mirrored and backwards, each of our spirits stands apart rejected, ultimate diametrics, cutting and splitting us like carving fire from fly.

ink is free, so...

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