poetry

Summer Gothic

There’s a beautiful greed that supersedes everything.

Your breath is dying and dissipating; the whites of your eyes smothered in invisible ink. And the summer heat is stifling. The stars and flickering streetlights make the whole world feel like a furnace.

In this moment I’m stuck in my head and the delusions cease to blind. The aesthetics dissolve and it’s only me. Honest to God, honest to you. I’m no angel- I’ve just never been touched. And the added pressure of ‘I love you’ sucks the life that’s left in this self-imposed inferno.

I’d stay here forever if I could. But it’s just fire everywhere; in my body, in your mouth, on the sidewalk, glaring from the watching windows of abandoned cars. And honestly I can’t take it. Because there’s barely enough left of me after all the self doubt and complacency. Inhale and exhale. The respiration is so consumptive, labored, and threatened.

You said you’d die right there if you could, wasting your precious breath. I thought we both would. It felt like the concrete would swallow us and sink into our bones.

Morbid, I know.

I could hear it, an undertone to everything you said. A ghost haunting the dark space between your ribs- barely there but beating.

The Swing- Jean-Honore Fragonard 

2 thoughts on “Summer Gothic”

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