Who knew that just fourteen days of knowing could lead to a realisation that

April can be a cruel month of finding enigmas

which can never be decoded?

Why do I attract

ones as messed up as myself, and who can leave

with a few apologies?

Holding your warm hazelnut body as

the sunlight interlopes on us

on a lazy Saturday afternoon

minutes turn into hours

What is mine?

What is ours?

My heart in your shaky palm

ready to be destroyed

if you clasp it too tightly

And if I lose sight of you and

you leave me longing for days

lost, confused and enraged

Wondering if I had a lucid dream

where each sensation felt better than morphine

stopping right before it killed me

The more I’d give of myself

The less you’d be hungry for this flesh

A satiation achieved once that threshold is reached

I have a tendency to hold on to things that will destroy me

Maybe, that’s why I hold on to myself when the dark days arrive

And it’s my fault if my tongue slipped and clasped onto yours

And it’s my fault that I wrapped my tongue around a razor blade

a masochism that keeps a jaded man alive

and at the cost of my sanity

I could live in a fantasy where I felt wanted

I hate my gaze

This stupid pupil

Has taken in stupid people

as specks of a hopeful beam

Has mistaken

the small con for a long haul

I hate my passion

passion to pursue

has bore me no fruits

and that’s the root of my suffering

You told me you wanted to kill yourself

since you were sixteen

and I said I didn’t want to live past my fifties

And we joked about us minorities never being free

in a country where they are not seen

And I never think of you except

when that Bleacher song plays on my phone

Enough to get my mind running

to write a few lines

(you’ll never read)

(you’ll never understand)

about an affection that lasted shorter than the puff of the smoke lingering in the air

And you stub the cigarette without a care.