Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Dying Wish

Smoke swirls from the soil,
because it’s over now.
The bullet is out from under the control of the gun,
burrowed into its brand new home.

I won’t keep you a secret.

My blood tells a story as the seconds slip away,
and I’m calling your name,
over and over, as if it’s all I can say,
and all I want is to see you,
in case I never do again.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter.

I used to hate how you wanted to “keep our private life private”,
because my whole life had been a succession of secret desires that were swallowed by shame and never spoken of,
and when I found you, I thought “My God. I want to sing her name from the rooftops”,
but your soft hands always found their way across my excited, melodic mouth,
kissing away my attempts to confess,
because of your complex about an ex who found it “overwhelming” to belong to you,
with all the scrutiny that it was accompanied by,
and as hard as I tried,
you’d never accept that I was made of stronger stuff.

That’s what love is.

Love is honest, sacrificial.
Love is “I’m going to kiss you because I have waited my whole life to do it, and I don’t care if someone else doesn’t like it.”
Love is lying in my own blood, using the last of my life to choke out your name, again and again, because you are all I have.
You are all I wanted.
You are all I waited for.

I won’t keep you a secret.
That is my dying wish.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s