You’re my mouth when I cant speak, lashing out whenever I cant and vocalizing all the thoughts I’m afraid
to even admit I’m having. You’re inside my mind and screaming out loud what you find there, inhaling my
essence and breathing me out like a puff of smoke from one of your cigarettes that you only smoke right
before you make love just to take one more shot at the conformist world you think you’ve risen above.
You’re my arms when I’m lacking strength. Your the tight grip that holds me down, or holds me up, when
I’m about to fall or am just falling away. You’re the flexed muscle that keeps me focused like a lazer beam
on absolutely nothing at all, and you’re the hard shove in the back that took me to the places I need to go
but fear to tread.
You’re my spine when I lack the faith, powdered courage injected into my arm with a dull syringe. You’re
what holds me up when I’m just too tired to go on and what pins me when I’m so scared I want to run
away. You’re all that keeps me from breaking down or simply breaking, against the onslaught of violent
dreams and silent screams that fill our nights and haunt my days.
You’re my lungs when I cant breathe. The lifesbreathes that keeps my cells and my soul alive, that pumps
through my body and through my veins like blood, that gives me a pulse and a temperature and every other
symptom that creates the illusion that I’m actually alive, that makes my face jerk like I’m actually feeling
feelings.
You’re my legs when I cant walk, when I cant walk away, cant run away. Your my crutch when I need to be
held up or just to know that if I ever am in need, you’ll be there. Your what chokes the life from me as you
strain around my chest, ankles locked, repaying willingly given pleasure with an unintentional pain.
You’re my eyes when I cant see. You let me see the world and map out places I’m afraid to go. You take
me to a place where I see colours I didn’t even know existed, a rainbow painted red on a black wall that
glows with the hues of your eyes and the tones of your skin. Your my glacial prism that distorts the world
into something I can bear to look at, mixing smoke and mirror images to create a perfect place that can only
be made better when your there.
You’re my hands when I cant feel, and my grip when I feel I’m losing hold. Your the long, thin fingers that
can draw perfectly straight lines and perfect circles, that tweak and tease and pull hair until it hurts in the
only good way possible. You pinch nerves and tie heartstrings up in a Christmas package with a bow that
you can reopen, fresh, whenever you want, and whenever you need it.