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So I Ended Up Showering In My Own Blood For A Bit??? - Blog Posts
As a joke, once, I claimed I was a slut, an absolute whore, for poetry - well, maybe it's not entirely a joke - and you said, "If only I were poetry," - as per joking goes. But, oh, god you are poetry. The rawest kind of poetry. The kind that takes only special glasses to be able to read. You are art in its barest form - like the many interpretations of Lucifer's fall from Heaven. Your very being is the poetry I'd learn; if only to carve into my bones.
For your sake and mine, I hope this version of you - the one I hum soothing lullabies to at night - is merely just one that pays no fee to live on in my subconscious. I'm afraid I cannot repeat this. Im afraid I must. I'm afraid I might learn you were never real.
