When I picture you, I don't picture a future. 

I don't picture a house. A family. A garden. 

I picture the way you'll hurt me. 

The pain you'll let me feel. 

Our futures don't matter anymore. 

What we found together is so much headier than a future would ever be. 

Intoxicating. 

Worrying. 

I know they're watching us spin. Round and round. Like two birds falling from the sky. Scared we might just plummet. Not knowing it's on purpose. That we want to fall. 

That falling feels so fucking good. 

Does it hurt you like it hurts me? 

Feeling like this.

Feeling this pain. 

This longing. 

Like you just want us to meld completely together but know we can't. 

Know it's too toxic. 

Knowing one of us might just stab the other to death. 

I can taste this feeling on my tongue. A sense of dread turned excitement

It tastes like blood. 

Picturing our hands together. 

Picturing your hands on my neck. 

Picturing it all. 

But unable to move toward it. 

Only able to picture. 

A mask over your face. 

Your features unclear. 

Your feelings unclear. 

My thoughts all muddled with the blood stuck in my head. 

My eyes going glazed. 

My heartbeat going slow. 

But my distant gaze going warm. 

I hate you. 

I want to fade by your hands. 

At least I'll be with you. 

At least I'll be your stress relief. 

At least I'll be home. 

And when I wake up, I hope home will still be in your arms. 

Keeping us caged to each other.

A twisted sense of comfort in my heart. 

Like it's where we belong. 

The pain you gift to me.