i’ve been haunted since i was a child
by the spirit of the darkness from the corners of my mind
she lingers at night
feeds on my insomniac fears
i swear i feel my mind withering away beneath her
she traces the veins in my wrists
pricks her nails along my ankles
brings my head oh so close to the water
but she leaves just before she breaks the skin
just before i’m submerged
i’d like to think the last bit of my sanity drives her away
but i can’t be sure of much anymore
she leaves me so cold when she’s gone
she leaves me shivering
she leaves me trembling
i’m terrified by her visits
only in hindsight
i don’t feel anything at night
i can see my dead eyes in the blades and the glass
my hollowed cheeks in the empty plates
my red cheeks in the overflowing sink
the terror comes from the fact she visits so frequently
as a concept i can bear her
but i’m terrified by how familiar we’ve become
///
she met me again tonight
like meeting an old friend for dinner
lingering on the balcony
illuminated by the twinkling city lights
looking half like an angel
already prepared to whisk me away
to take me back to my mother
we skip formalities as i join her
feeling only the freezing night air
pretending that’s the only thing raising the goosebumps on my arms
and the hair on the back of my neck
i don’t even know what she’s saying to me
it’s the same message
the same tape on repeat
drilled in my brain over and over again
and i follow her eyes to the street down below
looking at the asphalt glistening
i always loved the way it felt
rough on the skin
road scrapes always felt so satisfying
i shouldn’t love the sting of fragments in the cut
as much as i do
i’d sit and lay in an empty road if i could
felt more therapeutic than grass
but now she points to the ground far below
leaning almost too far over the edge
i’ve always blamed that one florence song
for making me curious
if when i’m falling i’m really at peace
and it’s only when i hit the ground that it causes all the grief
///
i can hear you call my name
just barely over the noise in my head
all the words and urges and cars and sirens
you call for me again before i turn around
hands still gripping the railing
like i’ll fall through if i don’t remind myself it’s there
you voice is soft i think
you sound gentle
at least in comparison to my thoughts
it’s time to go to bed you say
you don’t seem angry
perhaps i’ve helped you come back to bed before
“i can’t,” i say
“i can’t sleep tonight”
you don’t have to sleep you promise
but i’d feel better if you’re in my arms
i don’t know if that’s for your comfort or mine
“the neon gravestones are out,” i tell you
it’s impossible to make out your face
against the harsh city lights
against my harsh thoughts
they’ll seem dull in the morning light you remind me
just come back to bed love and you’ll see
i can feel myself cracking beneath your gentle gaze
i can’t even tell the color of your eyes but i can say that i love them
“i am not a perfect man,”
and you say neither was god
and now the fear is confusion as i tilt my head
“yes he was,” i counter “that was kind of his whole thing”
if he was so perfect you explain
he wouldn’t have left man here alone
left to their own devices
left to their own minds
i don’t notice until now how loose my grip has become
or the tears stinging my dry eyes
come back to bed you repeat
come back to me and my arms is what i know you mean
and i listen
i leave the balcony behind
and the glistening street
i leave her behind
and i leave the terror at the door
for the comfort of a lover
i never know if i’ll know
but as i cry myself to sleep
i can feel the ghost of her hands
brushing my cheeks
until i can feel another body in my bed
— i don’t know you // you’re saving my life
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