I built you a castle and you walked right by it.
I watched you,
because my eyes were bound to your pretty face.
All I could do was watch you collide with the outside world,
aching and asking you to yearn a little bit less,
because you surrounded me,
siren spirit,
spinning my perspective again and again until I was unsure that the world was even working as it should.
Everything faded away,
and I failed to find a way back to myself,
letting her lights go out as night fell,
tired and too timid to ask time for a reprieve.
I didn’t call you, but you came anyway,
walking,
once again past the stony dreams of a girl who didn’t wish to walk the Earth,
and all I could say was a quick hello,
waving as we went our separate ways.
You traced the path,
stuck on my scent,
Hell’s hound dog.
I tore my heart from my chest,
watching it pound and plead as I threw it into a lake.
Neither of us can swim.
Leave a Reply