I hate who I am when I’m not with you...

I hate who I am when I’m not with you,

A broken thing,

Twisted, perverted,

Clinging to any salve for my wounded pride,

But coming crawling back,

A hungry dog to his master’s hand,

Well trained to bear all ill use.

Do you remember the time I burned for you?

Came to your door every day, trailing blood,

Drowned myself, all dreams, all loves

And grew into this wretched, haunted thing.

How I loved you then and love you still.

Stretched out in bed, I barely slept for the promise of your face,

Raced through the city at 5 in the morning,

Packed crowds all parting ways

None of them had your eyes.

In that moment, life was perfect

And all the endless rolling hills, stretching into mist, horizon, death,

And the rumbling demon snake of the tracks

With its thousand tendrils and innumerable ribs, endless eyes all dragging and whirling,

Could not shake from me the warmth of your embrace.

I returned in tears as I was wont to do,

Stumbled through the night and buried my face.

We swung back the next day as ever.

And still, through it all,

You cut me so casually

In words you say that you regret,

And my heart in your hands, carved of stained glass and wrought like bloody tissue,

Cracks a bit more each passing day.

But such is the lot we would give ourselves,

Seeking no escape from the fires of love,

Being burnt to cinders in tormented agony

And learning to live and love as Ash.

I could not love you as other men do

And yet I love you in what twisted way I can.

This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.