i'm covered in treacle made
of your word-punches, and
tainted rainbows of greyish
tones; a reminiscence of the
paradise you left behind.

you tell me that you love me.
i believe you, as naive as i am.
a pinch of heat invades my
cheeks; i want you to kiss
the skin out of me. this old
silk gown is worn out.

i tell you that i love you. you
believe me, as naive as you
are. a pinch of cold invades
your heart; you ask me to
touch your ribs and sing
a dead lullaby. your fake
ornament is starting to
turn into frostbites.

you tell me that you hate me;
a river of elation takes over
my dead lungs. i'm beginning
to breathe the air you stole, to
see the empyrean you hid, to
taste the happiness you forbid.

i tell you that i hate you; a
galactical tide hits your last
bit of breath. you smile with
chipped teeth and vanish into
the waves asking me to love
you again.

i'm sorry, ghost lover. i'm
too busy loving myself.