On Nights Like These

the pages of my downfall,
they linger in the air
like burning incense.
the wishful waste of time
where i watch from great
distances, the shifting
details of your normalcy.

i remember the touch of
your hand on my face. I
remember the light in your
eyes. I remember most that
penetrating smile, made up
of peppermint and pretense.
on nights like these, we would

wander over each other,
exploring subtle delicacies
we would violate the very
beings of ourselves, for
just a taste of nectar. we
would cross our fingers, and
wait to be delivered. but

deliverance would not come.
yes, on nights like these
when the cold would creep
silently through holes in the
heating ducts, when the air
would start to circulate through
our nostrils, into the depths of

our desperation. we would
hold each other tightly, and
yet with unequaled delicacy.
for the darkness was not a
thing to trust, we would only
trust one another. on nights
like these. now, nights grow

long and stagnant, as I lie
on my face and suffer a new
type of water boarding, wherein
demons paint pictures of your
face, elegant and smiling,
on the roof and the walls. Satan
himself whispers into my ear

in a voice slightly reminiscent
of your voice. I feel the scars
of my love for you, I waste
away hoping at some small
deliverance; some silent
reconciling sense that all
is well, that everything will

be alright. but, in the in
between, I am scratching
at the caverns of my psyche
trying like Captain Ahab to
pull you from its depths. I am
tearing down posters plastered
to walls and palpitations. I am
fighting, fighting for deliverance.

But worry not, dearest
maiden. I am fully submersed
in my quest. For only two
outcomes stand possible:
either I will completely
eradicate you from me,
or I will die trying.