kissing the fist

spoken like fighting words, he says, "i love you." and his kiss felt like a punch on my lips.

when he touched his body on, i felt his knife in my side, and the twist as he pulled it back.

i followed as he left, yelling, "i won't chase you for love!" but i guess for his, i did, that time, and many before.

we both knew though - i think - it wasn't love we had, but loneliness, that brought and kept us there.

then it was the thing that threatened to tear us both apart, down to the breaking hearts.

and when we built our towers as close to the sky that we could, higher to seek our answers, "why and how‽"

it seemed simple, scientific, and we calculated the risk of the other's costs and benefits.

the safety of knowing the savage lie next to you in bed was a sultry and intoxicating tease of charity.

he mumbles the sweetest sentiments in his sleep, when he talks to me in his restless slumber.

i hold on to those promises. the ones that he will have no memory of if he ever is awoken.

so i harden my heart and wait for him to wake, as nobody wants to look like they are the broken one.

do you think i excused his violations, and being doomed to be each other's beast and burden, silently?

maybe i told myself there are worse things in this world, and this was better than hurting alone... it was my duty?

if the truth is told, i did- until i considered an alternative perspective: but is it, really? has it ever been?