Fantasy
I keep having this beautiful dream where you hurt me because you know me
It’s on a planet where we can finally live with ourselves, the both of us
It sways me to sleep at night, like the beat of breathing
You know that I write better poetry with severed limbs.
You know how I write like it’s to survive. Like I’m trying to outrun the septic wet ink spreading across my pages like a disease, like I’m trying to outrun something I don’t know yet
but you do
It’s a nice world, where you remember how I crave silence like rainfall, so that’s why you give it to me
And you come back just frequently enough
to feed me the hunger I need
to remember I’m alive.
I’ll bleed like it’s a beautiful, clean thing. Like it’s the right thing, and you know that before I do. I’ll wear my scars like picture frames around the purity we’ve built together, and I’ll come to practice forgiveness so religiously that it begins to look like trust.
I swear it’s a good dream, and when the morning light spills over my bare skin,
if you’re still there, I will roll over to face your vacant body and tell you about it.
