there's a darkness in you.
it's splayed across the length of your skin, tattooed in the brush of your touch. it feathers each glance and breath you give me, lingers in that space between the words we say and everything else that we don't. sometimes i can persuade myself it isn't there, that there is nothing dangerous in your eyes, your heart, your kiss. in the yellow light of a summer's day, stretched out on the grass, surrounded by friends and lightly chilled lemonade, i can ignore the shivers you give me, the edge to your charm.
but there are some shadows we cannot shake off. they wait for us at home, filling the kitchen and blocking us in, pushing reason out. we hate and we hurt and it's there, there, in my tears and my cries and my god, how did this happen? how did we become something so bitter, hollow only to be overflowing with fear, full to the point of famine, dying to feel alive? somewhere down the line, being with you has become like drowning.
i could leave. there's a car on the driveway and i own the keys; outside there are roads and traintracks and with them come dreams of tickets to a different life clutched tightly in a shaking hand. i could go. i could.
but i stay. and so we shall remain, suffocating in the kitchen, watching as the wallpaper peels away and we'll spit and claw and scrape at every last strand of our life until there'll be nothing left to break but ourselves. as the shadows that keep us grow and twist and pull the house down. and then, only then, as i watch you through ashes and dust, i'll know.
i'll know that the darkness is not yours after all.
it is mine.