you want power

so I give you power

my body is the canvas for all your shades of red

my mind, the battlefield experience

in which you can wage all your wars

wars with which you will devastate the world

wars that graze my skin

with kisses that leave scars

you want control

so I give in to yours

I let you crucio my body

and imperio my mind

do it, and the next time, do it harder,

and greater, and for longer still.

they're yours. they're both yours.

all there's left that's mine

is my heart

withering, blooming

waiting–

for the third unforgivable curse.

you want death

so I let you embrace me in your caging arms

and snatch out your wand

I let you open your mouth to dictate my fate

but before you can

I lean into you and mumble sweet nothings into your ear

the two softest words you've ever heard,

the two first words you've ever spoken

avada kedavra

you wanted death

and now you have it.

dead once. dead always.

my heart is still beating

but it's no longer alive.

the most unforgivable curse is to love

even after you die.

I bring life to the afterlife.

the stairs to enter heaven are empty

the line to enter hell long and endless.

before you can choose the former, 

I drag you to the latter.

now that we're under the world

you could tell me what it feels like to die

if it is as tragic as never having been alive.

Charon doesn't want to take us in his boat,

he says our souls are too heavy to carry

and we can't fall on the river Styx for we already poisoned it

with blood that one day will inevitably turn to mud–

tom, you become what you hate the most.

you can never wash the mud away from your blood

and it has nothing to do with birth

people aren't born mudbloods, they become mudbloods

by making mud out of the blood of others.

it's our turn next, Hades is calling, but none of us move.

your hand grazes mine, your finger slithers around my finger

(pinky promises turned unbreakable vows)

and the sun sets in me so a hundred blue moons

can rise in the starless sky that covers your eyes.

your skin is flawless, left untainted

mine is tarnished by your mark,

for you must have a part of yourself even in others.

I sketched it for you and you thanked me by drawing it on me,

the first skin to ever welcome it.

Morsmordre is made of you and me,

after all, what is an emerald skull

without a serpent to roll out of its mouth

and turn its penniless tongue into silver?

they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions,

that's why we get lost in it,

for we know none of those.

so we go back, to the abysm that pulls life and death apart

that keeps them from falling in love with one another

much like us, life and death are flirting at a distance

so we put ourselves between them

the same way they've always put themselves between us

to prevent the superlative, peerless kiss

that would bring their worlds together.

I touch both realms wondering which one will take me in first

and that's when you kneel down, grab my hand

and slide the ring on. you say–

your hand looks better with this on it.

but it's not a wedding ring.

it's as gold as your lies, as black as your soul(s),

the stone not yet cracked by Gryffindor's sword.

it shines on my finger and suddenly on that void

I'm pushed a little more towards death.

death always initiates the kiss, life just follows along,

the original, less polluted serpent and skull.

I'm teetering on the edge.

I understand now, why it's called falling in love

why there's no climbing back from it.

the only reason I fall (in love)

is because there's an abyss between our hearts

and no ground

to break the (down)fall.

cursed is the finger that wears your ring, tom.

I can feel it cursing me from inside

you're right. my hand does look better in it.

my entire body looks better in death.

I was born in those fleeting seconds between life and death

where it's unknown whether they're

celebrating a wedding or getting a divorce.

they kiss through me, their tongues

battle for my soul.

but before I fall

I grab your pristine hand and take you with me

we end up sitting on the front row waiting

to come back to life.

you couldn't kill me in life so you will do it in death

it's okay. I'm used to it.

I would die for you and you would kill for me

but while I would also kill for you

you wouldn't die for me, tom, would you?

you wouldn't die for anyone, not even for yourself.

that's the thing about you, tom.

if you're not killing, you're not living

you're only alive when you're taking somebody else's life.

and if I'm not loving you, I'm dying.

so you can't kill me, tom

you can't have both my death and my hatred.

you know I'd rather die than hate you

the question is, would you rather die or love me?

would it really kill you to fall into the chasm between our chests?

it's okay if you can't love.

I can't recognize love, the right kind of it, either.

so teach me love your way, tom.

you make all wrong feel right,

alchemise sin into light,

hang beauty in the scythe.

when death finally proposes,

you pull me in for a kiss and put

the same words I killed you with in my mouth.

avada kedavra.

you kill me

and I've never felt more alive.

life says yes.

you did it, tom.

you made life marry death and kill us all on its honeymoon.

but don't worry.

when life divorces death, we'll come back to court you.