"Why?" you ask me,
Over milky warm tea late one night,
Staring into my eyes as though you could ever truly see my soul,
"I don't know..." I lie,
Staring back into your hazel eyes and glimmering halo,
Bitter and vexed,
Figuring, hoping, pleading - that you would be the one to understand,
The one to grasp the heady glass of wine,
That is my madness and partake with me,
Yet again, I find, that you are cut from a different cloth,
Like the rest,
You always question, question, question,
Lie to yourself and beg from me answers to questions,
Which you already are fully aware of,
I replace the tea with a whiskey and watch you grimace,
Wondering how I could ever tolerate a burn that intense,
Forgetting, I believe,
That not too long ago - you partook of my infection in a likewise manner,
Perching myself upon my cherry colored throne,
The whiskey burning its way through my veins,
Coursing through, numbing the other, more deadly infection,
That threatens to consume me entirely and swallow me whole,
I listen as you ramble on and on and on and on and.....
"Do you know what I mean?" you say,
Loud voice shattering my blissful booze-infiltrated fantasy,
I nod, "Yes, yes I do...."
A smile - I'm safe,
You kiss my cheek, teeter off to bed again,
I head for my dungeon of self-inflicted torture,
Pull out the blade and slice until the blood oozes redemption,
The sweetest redemption that one could ever truly know,
& smile ...
"This is why..." I whisper, knowing you will never hear ...