Forbidden things, the way we touch,
the love we have.
They do not understand
and they never will.

Kept from the sun,
all life withers,
so too will I,
as I am kept
from the light of you, the heat.

Nothing will end
the hope, the desire,
nothing will quench or quell
the outright need,
just as nothing can overwhelm
a body’s need for air.
I shall suffocate without you,
blacken to ash,
and turn to nothing.

Remember me,
when I am little more than grit
blown by the wind,
when I am little more than dust,
when I am nothing but that memory,
and all that will keep me alive
is the last of your electric breath,
the current of your blood,
the on/off/on/off/on of your cells,
until all that keeps you alive
is the last gasping rattle
of your dreams,

and when I am gone,
and you are gone,
and all you have ever touched
is gone,


the shame of having loved
will be allowed to fade
as well.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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