In the end, it is your heart that will guide the knife to your throat.
I run for pain, the excruciating burn of desire. I burn for the exquisite absence of thought.
A moment of both celebration and mourning, of the dreams you have lived and those futures not realized; of the masks of the past and the veil of the future; of the passing of yesterday, and the inevitability of tomorrow.
Take my hand, and I promise you art.
You will be the canvas of my prose.
I’ll dip my pen into the ink of your eyes, and engrave myself onto your heart.
The clock struck midnight and she was gone.
If my name is on the page, if my name is scrawled on some distant pillar, I can’t disappear.
I was here.
It was just another day.
I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me.
We were two ships passing in the night, on different paths in the same waters.
But in that fraction of a second, we were as close as two people could ever be.
There is a castle I live in, with glass walls that kiss the sky.
I was never meant to be unshackled.