Feel it – burning in me – through me – through you.
Feel it on your skin.
Feel it in your chest, heaving – your breathing.
Take it from me.
Take me home.
Take me – make me – bleed me out.
Feel it – gnawing – clawing – killing.
Drown it – pound it – wish I’d never found it…
Take it from me.
Take me home.
Take me – make me – bleed me out.
Pale as a picture, caress you.
None of it’s real, everything’s a dream.
Pale as a picture, I feel you breathing.
Whisper, weeping, peeking —
Taste it – naked throat – your euphemism – and years apart…
I died when I left you… But you never came for my body. I’m still waiting, still longing. Still hating. I still love you.
Fuck. I still love you.
About the Author: Æverett 
Æverett lives in the northern hemisphere and enjoys Rammstein and Star Trek. He writes both poetry and fiction and dabbles in gardening and soap making. She has two wonderfully old cats, and a dearly beloved dog. He also plays in linguistics, studying German, Norwegian, Russian, Arabic, a bit of Elvish, and developing Cardassian. Language is fascinating, enlightening, and inspirational. She’s happily married to her work with which she shares delusions of demon hunters, detectives, starships, androids, and a home on the outskirts of a small northern town. He’s enjoyed writing since childhood and the process can be downright therapeutic when it’s not making him pull his hair out. It’s really about the work and words and seeing without preconceptions.