Scarlet Fingers

 

You’re hollowing me out.

 

I remember our first moment.

An innocent touch, a friendly smile.

You promised kisses and warmth.

I gave you my hummingbird heart.

 

“I’ll be so good to you.” A beautiful vow, lips against my knuckles. “So good.”

 

How long did it take you to bury under my skin?

I ask because I didn’t even notice.

You broke my soft surface like a slick, sharp blade.

I didn’t even feel it, I never had a clue.

 

“You’re so good to me.” Beautiful words, fingers in my hair. “So good.”

 

I don’t feel the sun anymore.

When I rains, I drink, though my thirst is never quenched.

But I suck it in, anyway.

You drain me dry.

 

“You’re so good to me.” Sinful praise, teeth grazing my ear. “So good.”

 

You’re my mistletoe,

And I’m you’re sweet, sweet succulent.

But you pull too hard, these days.

You’re twisting knots around my lungs.

 

You’re hollowing me out.

 

I’m dying. This body has been cracked open, exposed by your flowers like scarlet fingers that crawl out of my eyes. I’m dying.

 

“You’re so good to me.” Your voice is a song without music. You’re radiant.

“…So good.”

 

misteltoe

 

 

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