I still check up on you.
Not going far, stopped always
by a flash of pain and shame
that dances across my eyes,
raising my pulse into an incredible
chorus of, ‘Escape! Escape! Run while you can!’
But there I go.
Seeing if you’re still alive,
hoping you are doing well,
praying that you are finally happy.
Anything more and I would feel an intruder.
A spectrum in the night, living in the past
and finding changes in the present.
‘Escape! escape! Run while you can!’
My full frame crumbles,
I grow a little smaller,
head facing the floor because
that’s what I’m worth.
A moth to the flame,
my fingers burn to a crisp
each and every time, but
look at how often I return.
That’s what they call perseverance.
A masochist, more likely.
I’ll learn my lesson, one day.
But that day has not come,
even though I wish it would.
To dull my thoughts into an
even neutral. No longer
affected by such small things
like your name,
that I fancied to be mine.
‘This is not a drill! Evacuate!’
A masochist, is what others call it.
A delusion, a vision in the clouds
even though I carve our names in the ground.
Crossing out mine with a line through the middle.
Asking again and again the same question, hoping for an answer.
A masochist, a delusion, a day-dream
that will not quit.