Unspooling

You unspool my veins and try to weave them into your own story, thinking that I will finally be the one to save you. You insist that we are compatible, showing me that our blood types are a match, but I can see the lies written in the bluing veins of your arms, your body rejecting mine though you keep coming back for more. As you unravel me, I begin to wither away; you continue to take, thinking that the next time will be enough to fill the void, enough to inject life in your sunken eyes and shriveled fingers. You use my blood to write the story of us, spinning fantasies that I was desperate to believe, fantasies that you were desperate to make permanent. The only permanent thing was the knife that you used to open me to you, promising that eventually it would stop hurting. You thought that I was the antidote that you needed, but you were really my poison. 

Author's Note

I've written many different drafts of this and I'm not really sure what to classify it as. Any feedback on things that are cliche, things that don't flow, etc. would be much appreciated!

Reviews

[History_Birdman]

This definitely got my imagination started! This is really elegant and i hope to see you use the ideas in this poem (i can call it that right?) in other works. This is a really cool concept! One suggestion however: maybe replace the word permanent in the second and third last sentences with "real" or another similar word (tangible, a reality). i feel that this would make it read a little smoother. Just a suggestion! :p

[Amanda]

Ahh thank you so much for reading, and thanks for the suggestion! I definitely think I'm going to keep playing around with the ideas here, I'm glad to here that you enjoyed it. :)