to ___,

discommunication.

you told me to try not thinking
about these emotions, my confidant
as though they were not roaring through my bloodstream
taunting and screaming and twisting
feeling and perception into a disfigured rope
one and two and tight around my neck squeezing, ridding
my body of all but raw sensation and
the little logic that is left, fighting, refusing
to give in though
my bloodless lips hiss though they
forget to fight for breath in begging
for somebody, anybody to put an end to this war.

you told me i was right, my trustee,
my friend who has 
learnt to say the right words and
stands staring down the stretch
one ear to the sea, one in a seashell
torn between heart and taught halves and
knowing the sky holds no more honesty
than empty hopes whispered in moments where we
are too cold, so many arms around us but
too cold.

you wasted little of your breath on me, my
favourite riddle, my devestating pastime
and i hope one day you will understand how
your words crashed over me like waves and
stripped me bare like tide lapping on searching surface but
i fear it’ll be too late, always too late, too faint and
beyond recognition by dawn and
never one of the dreams, one of the nightmares that deserved more than
a second or two’s immersion before you saw to the waiting day,
just like i was your dusty board game for a rainy day and
the streets don’t know rainbows there.

you stayed by my side, my pillar, its shadow and
time and time again i’ve knocked at you with my bloody and bruised fists, after
you waited for me, standing half-tall and stained and
searching for the same answers and pulsing under cover, perhaps
hoping we won’t see the day for which you’re hoping, the day
i pull you down with me too. 

you were the hands behind me pushing, the 
hands stretching, reaching, pulling back, my beloved black widow
and i always tried to free you of that mask but one day all the truths collided, one day too early
i fell be for e you and the body screaming to be
destroyed, the body
determined and the end has 
begun and this i know
because love and hate have finally come together
and you simply must kiss or kill
me my dear, you must
cut me open and
hold my throbbing heart in your hand, so that
maybe then you could feel my love, maybe then
i could feel your hate, maybe
then we could feel one another

and my wavering breaths wouldn’t taste of but undiluted loneliness and
whatever i may find in your eyes (will you look at me,
at last?) would put an end to me, 

at last.