Feeling you break me feels better than not touching me at all. You keep me hypnotized. I’m blind to eyes that are not your shade of blue, and I knew the moment the words slipped from my lips that I lost all of you.
I breathed out all of my oxygen onto your skin, and you pulled away, leaving me to suffocate. And yet, I’m still alive, savoring shallow breathes that burn. My esophagus, throat, and lungs. I can’t stop breathing.
Dig your fingers between my heart’s chambers. Weave them between arteries and veins. Break me as I did to you. Deconstruct the last parts of me that are functional.
Release the beast locked behind my steel caged ribs, prying and begging to escape. Feverously beating until it breaks my sternum into two. Punctured, and blood soaked my heart is. It feels so good to be broken by you.
The worst part of all of this is me. I did this. And that’s why I find comfort in your hands tracing my orbitals, dancing on my cranium, sinking into each sulcus and gyrus of my cerebral cortex. I have fingerprints of your DNA on my skeleton that don’t fade.
The memories of you are more potent each time I replay them.
I crave your taste and can’t bare to let you escape me.
I’d walk miles on broken bones to get back to where we were. We were so beautiful in stupid premature almost-love that ended too soon.
Tendons, cartilage, and ligaments never heal quite the same but the pain of you is addictive. It’s so addictive because it gives me the most insignificant hope of you. And that’s all I need to keep pushing.
I guess there are things in life worth fighting for and it took me a while to realize that. Sometimes it’s too late, but sometimes fate will find a way to bring me back to you.
My body is bruised from stumbling through an empty room, aimlessly searching for something larger than myself, and that thing is you. I love every intricacy of you. How you pick apart your epidermis, leaving scars that form a map on your back.
I want to trace the places your mind escapes to. I want to run my palm down your jawbone, committing your shape to my memory. Please break me. Press your hands against my windpipe and drain me of my oxygen.
I have naive fire behind my eyes. Fire that I won’t let burn out this easily.
I never knew the feeling of drowning, or taking my first breath, until now. And you make it simultaneous. Like air and water overflowing my shallow lungs, and the breaths keep coming.
I feel alive. It’s sublime, this love for you. And for once in my life, I love the feeling of being broken.