with grenadine lips that drip with sangria

you whisper

nox into my thoughts

and lumos to my heartbeats

you drag your nails down my mind, 

your personal onyx chalkboard

you scratch and draw with mother-of-pearl bones

and purple-stained nails made of 

blue blood and smudges of my cherry swollen lipstick

you claw your way into my chest

my heart, a summer night where 

millions of iridescent fireworks explode

and reshape the dead spaces between stars,

broken kaleidoscopes of psychedelic tears,

fragmented dreams and Kafkaesque fears

you pull me to you and say

you want to make art out of my misery

that the depths of my museum have been ignored for too long

that you won't leave a single corner untouched, unseen or unbroken

that my body is an exhibition others can admire during the day

but only you can visit at night

you say I'm the seventh wonder of the world

(the seventh piece of your soul)

but you only like wonders

so you can walk among their ruins

tom riddle, the viper in my bosom

the tongue carries the toxin

the lips deliver the poison

the fingers sneak through the valley

to reach an odd duck neck with veins

that guard blood so you can spurt it

you kiss the spot where my pulse lives

so you know where to kill it

I'm a masterpiece at your hands

the kind that is forged in a crematorium

or ends up in a mortuary

the kind only someone sacred can hold

for all others will want to sin with it

(you have sinned the most)

the altar bread falls apart between our liquor-coated tongues

(amaretto glazed over red wine)

baptize me in the rivers of your rage

for the only holy water you've ever tasted

was the salt amidst my tears

you wrap your hands around my neck

and I think I can see the gates of heaven

through the flutter of eyelids that quiver

like torn wings of a dying butterfly

you squeeze a little harder 

and death lends me its breath

so I can experience demise multiplied by seven

you see, you're on top of my body

but when it comes to the mind

you're always

bottom

your hand tears through me,

inside my chest it pulls each string of my heart

slowly, until it's nothing but a worn, thin rope

a mere cobweb of a spider that is long dead

rip my heart out then. it's the only way to know I have one.

your touch, the blood, the way it rusts

around the edges of my soul until it's an abalone fence

no one can pierce but you

tom, I need more of your touch

I need more of my blood

I was made to be left in purple so do it, tom. do it.

leave me in lilac and mauve and all shades of violet

kiss me until my lips are blue

you kiss better than a dementor

kill better than death

turn this chaste cherry gloss into mephitic blueberries

I want you to kiss me on my way to death

so that when she finally kisses me

and clutches her subzero grip around my swanlike neck

I don't notice the difference

from above I watch you watch me

being lowered to the roots amid the ground

I convince myself

that each tear that falls from your eyes

is a star that falls from the sky

but it's not, it's just

another wisp of growing darkness

but even if you've kissed me as a ritual

to prepare me for my funeral

I can't forget when I first saw you

we met under the rain, tom, remember?

we tasted God in each raindrop

laughed when he was crying

and your unruly hair curled around your ruling head

I have held your heart in my hands

and now I'm paying the price,

as I'm left plucking out the thorns from my own flesh

last night we drank the stars from a flask of bottled sky

tonight I've got dirt for a throat and crosses for eyes

tom, you loved my wonders so much

you took all of them and left me in ruins

you stayed in my museum for so long, 

demanding me to be open beyond opening hours

I became another fossil in it

I wish you could come and visit me again someday,

perhaps even stay,

but I can't come down and you'll never go up.

the only way for you is down, tom.

but still, even in death, even as I watch you cry

for a girl you had no feelings for

and pray to a God you will never have faith in, 

you make me feel like I am halfway between heaven and hell

and I have no idea whether I want to kiss God or the devil

I love you, I do.

I love you as if you're suspended on the brink of existence

and I'm not sure if I want to push you over or pull you closer

and I know you love me, you do.

You love me as if I'm suspended there too

and you're absolutely sure

you want me to push you down, so you can pull me down with you.

in the end

you whispered lumos into my thoughts

and nox to my heartbeats

and I thanked you for it

for I've been wanting to die

ever since I realized

I was alive.

and now that I'm dead and stuck in heaven as a ghost

I want you back so you can make art out of my misery once more

you've made a tragedy out of me the first time

with your Byronic hero tics

let's make a comedy this time

let's make post-mortem literature

let's make Belles-lettres nailed to a crucifix