I am cursed to cry,
crystal, clandestine tears,
because my eyes miss my mistress,
and nothing can fix the fever that breaks and regroups,
like a relentless army, when she is not by my side.
My lot in life was light until she let herself in the open front door,
that waited with hopeful eyes,
for some kind of company,
closing whenever someone knocked,
until she just strode in,
with a whirlwind of smiles and affirmations,
that cleared the way for the door to close out of satisfaction, rather than fear.
It didn’t end there.
It never could,
because life continues to live on after happy endings,
and as the curtain falls,
She would always come back,
but she had no choice but to leave,
in and out, like the changing weather and my changing moods,
and whenever she was near,
I was blessed,
but the second she was out of my sight,
the curse returned,
and I was a storm,
destined never to subside,
until she was by my side, once more.
My best girl comes to call as the night falls,
like the shimmering stars across the blood moon,
never able to keep away,
because the Devil dared me to take her heart,
I reached in,
with manicured, meek little fingers and smiled as I felt her warmth.
Hell looked pretty on the postcards I sent to soul,
and as the moon went from blood to blue and back again,
I stayed by her side,
lost in an underground paradise,
where the weeks went by with a quickness that felt cruel.
Summer ended so soon,
chased away by bitter winter,
who had forgotten how to smile,
and decided that nobody else ought to either,
so there I was,
separated from the heaven of hell,
back in a boring, grayscale world,
when I could still taste technicolour on my tongue.
I could always remember.
I would wait by my window for the moon to make eyes at me,
dressed up all pretty in her favourite colour,
and the Devil would drop my darling at my door,
with a satisfied smile,
and the key to her heart.
She was worried that the world was going to shit,
but to me, the world was a limitless playground,
so I beckoned her, with pink, poorly manicured fingernails and told her that I could take her anywhere she wanted to go.
She had the whole world on her tense, tired shoulders,
and I planned world peace between the soft sheets that she stayed up all night in,
I asked her how she felt about trying to relax a little.
My glacial girl was aflame,
glowing in the dark night,
hours after the moon had fallen asleep,
because life was all over the place,
and it was hard to find her place,
with such frustration as horror found its way to our front door.
Perhaps, it isn’t the case that falling in love can drown the flames of fascism,
I said with my sweetest smile,
“isn’t it worth a try?”
As I slept,
the clocks crept backwards,
breaking the rules and breaking time and space,
and even though I had asked for a break from their torment,
they basked in toying with me,
for a few hours,
because I was always their favourite girl,
but they were always more in love with the thrill of being cruel.
Time ticks on, and so do I,
but nothing is ever the same.
I was her secret desire,
so secret, in fact, that she didn’t breathe a word to me,
simply appearing, breathless at my front door,
spilling words that were once whispers,
capturing me in a kiss,
as the sun finally rose on our romance.