I open my eyes. Death is on the floor with me. My head nestled in her lap. A blanket of wings around me. "Back to sleep." She coos. Deaths embrace. Tightening my grip I close my eyes, I don't want to give life to tears. I struggle defiantly to stay awake, shivering quietly, me in its tiny arms, a pool of blood beneath us. "Look at me." She says nudging my chin with her hand. Opening my eyes I feel her thumb reassuringly drag across my eyes wiping tears, leaving blood by mistake in their place. Clutching me closer, touching my soul, grabbing only once, and pulling into warmth. Smiling she whispers to me alone, "Look, I am right here.". Her eyes glistening curiously watching over my defeated body as I fall asleep entangled in her shape on the floor.

Curled up, pulling my body together desperately trying to become smaller. I fall back asleep, Why am I still squirming. How selfish.

I remember the first time I was with her, black and icy cold, I could hear nothing. Floating menacingly in front of my eyes. Thick black hair floating about stretched from her skull like a dandelion mid-wish. Layers of fabric clutching her skin, like plano of black waterfalls, clasped to her skin and putting anatomy to shame with its fitting.

My panging arm wrests my body from black. Turning over and lifting the shapely mass up to inspect the damage, clean red gouges running across my forearm and wrist. Like an overhead of rivers and valleys, dried up but still spittingly alive. Gorgeous. More than you think, selfish of me? Selfish of you discouraging the use of my own life.

Letting my torso expand to bursting and sucking painfully cold life. I rub my cut-up forearm, the gashes practically beaming, radiating heat and comfort when reassured, Like someone you trust enough to be present while you are naked scrubbing your back with care.

Lightheadedly trying not to fall over, I clasp my hands behind my back, turn them out, and puff my chest outward, slowly stretching my spine and ribcage.

pretending to stretch my innards out as well knowing full well that is not how it works.

Dragging fingers tumbling lightly across the wall towards the bathroom. My blood-covered arm and hands in the sink, toothbrush rising up from its resting place and stopping. Puzzling over the image of spitting foam into a bloody sink.

how delightful.

I stumble into the shower to think, turn the dial all the way up in an attempt to incinerate the helplessness I felt out of my flesh. A visible effort was made to take off and hurl my quite red-stained clothes towards the corner.

Squeaking down the shower wall I laugh. I am way too smart to keep a razor in here.

I will not believe in love at first sight. I never will. I believe love is a rose that grows inside me with the passage of time, embedded in flesh. Whomsoever's flesh is so unlucky. Thorns, growing even more painful and a bud that's leaves discarded, flake under my skin as a testament to my commitment, self-aware or not. I don't know where I put my love but I don't have any left. A single white rose bouquet dripping red. Unable to give what itself is.

I asked for a challenge, I asked for pain, we want what we cannot have, if you take something away from me I want it.

Please put me in a coffin.

Maybe I will want to live.