Left On Read

Beautiful stranger. How I want to love you, but you resist. You think me a catfish but I’m more a cat. 9 lives ain’t bad, and I’ve lived them all with you. It hurts that you see my love as a thing to suspect.

What am I here?

I heard you cry. I saw you laugh. We had our secret. I tucked you in my arms and rocked you like a mother. I called you sweetly, my hand out to you, Bratislava. My hands, palms up. Urging you, that skittish soul in that dark alley, to come to me so that I might nurture you.

You show me teeth, you’re puffed up. Defensive. Yet you sniff, beautiful, curious thing, you sniff, unable to resist a kind thing. But you’ve been beaten. You don’t trust anymore. You can’t see your beauty through the mange and bruises. You’re tired of the game. As is right.

You’re so special.

How then to wrap you in a blanket, and make you understand the language you speak? What must you do for you to let me in? Is the cost of love really so high? That you should deny your own? Shouldn’t it be? High? The cost? Two. Be certain. Which.

I’ve been leaving sustenance at your entrance, and you’ve inhaled every drop. You didn’t know from where it came, but that’s okay for now. You Know Who is getting close.

It feels familiar. Like a home. Like returning home. Like something you lost is being returned. You just need someone to help you stand again. Someone to wake you so you see yourself once again.

You speak of worthiness. Am I worthy of you? Are you worthy of me? You’re unsure which question to ask. I understand.

Still, I sit with you in silence. I move with you in lucidity. You can smell me in the air though I conceal my presence from you. You’re not yet ready but so close. You’re kicking those wounds and I understand this must happen. It’s the warrior’s cut scene. When you find your own strength to stand. When you reclaim your power. It’s necessary.

Beautiful tango. A lover’s poem. A song in the garden of minds. Fluid words and dreams woven into time. Why am I here? Crooning like a lovesick maelstrom. The simple truth of the apple was that it fell when ripe. That’s the key.

You seem content for tonight. Sleep, I guess. For I know you’re just biding Time, but don’t wait too long alone. You’ll be strong soon. Chasing butterflies down the street. It is then, when you have freed your self, that you will be free. And I know in whose power you’re healed. Say your name.

What do you need? You need somewhere to lay your head? Rest on me. You need sustenance? Drink from me. Drink from me. Tip me over. Pour me out. You need a table? I’m on my hands and knees. I got us.

I won’t give up. I’ll keep coming into you, hoping you feel. You know who he was talking to when he said he was a creep? One and same.

Hurry to me. If you stay here two alone in this place, you die. Come before the hungry thing waiting in the dark eats you. Maybe better you be consumed. Then you’ll know why you’re so fuckin’ special.

You’re fully reading you. You taste yourself. Now lift you off the ground. Lose control. Of body and soul.

Move.

Run.

Fly, you fools.

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