Empty Space

You remind me of the wintertime,

With your ghostly touches,

A quick breath of ice,

The frostiness that exudes from the depth of your eyes,

Your skin pale and wrought with cold,

Always cold no matter how close,

I draw you into me,

Lingering on the curves of your body,

Intoxicated by the scent of you,

As I bring your face closer and closer towards my own.

You even taste like winter,

The quick flick of your tongue,

Drifts past my lips,

Brushing crystal as snow does,

I define you,

By your sharp angular features,

Frigid just as you are.

You are distant even now,

Clear silver orbs set like the moon,

Glittering like the stars,

With your lips curved into the tiniest hint of a smile,

That flits across and illuminates you,

If only for a second,

And I'll bury myself in the crook of your neck,

Feeling safe and warm there,

Even if you are as chilly as death itself.

I will stay there,

Tracing patterns on your flesh,

And try to warm you,

To melt you into spring.

You cannot warm me,

Though my outer shell shall reek of your primordial scent,

Staining and poisoning my body with your gentle warmth,

You cannot warm my soul,

Which is as cold and hard as granite stone.

I do not know why you try,

To accomplish the impossible task,

For someone who thinks nothing more than less of you,

Remember that whilst you can soften my moans into the quietest of sighs,

You cannot soften the fire in my eyes,

The fire that desires something more,

Than what you offer me.

I do not want to be warm,

I revel in the whisper of daylight,

The somewhere between night and day,

Bordering on darkness and light, where the wind still sings sickly lullabies of death,

And before the sun shines its golden rays,

Causing the glacial beauty to fade.

You are vapid and foolish,

For believing that you could change me,

Into something I am not,

A reflection of yourself,

Should only be found in a mirror.

It's not very becoming is it,

To stick your lips out in childlike petulance,

Denying everything great that ever glanced your way,

As though you are a prince,

If true a prince of cowardice,

Afraid to love and be loved,

Perhaps afraid it'll be ripped away from you.

It is not that I am afraid.

It is simply because I do not love you.

That was not what you told me last night,

Underneath the sheets of whence you came,

Crying out my name,

Loving me with such passion,

That I felt you glowing,

In my embrace

You are a perpetual dreamer,

Your head forever clouded with idiocy,

Always reaching for the things that do not exist,

Attempting to touch the tips of your fingers to the sky,

Smiling in that secretive way of yours,

As though you know many a thing that I do not,

And I always wonder what it is you are reaching for,

And what it is that you know.

I am reaching for the stars that glimmer in your eyes.

Do you wish to break me?

I only wish for you to let me love you.

Be careful what you wish for.

I wish for you.

You do not want me,

You imagine that you know what you want,

You want the boy that presses his lips against yours,

Whispering kind words in your ear,

You want someone tender and soothing,

Smooth maybe.

You never wanted me,

You imagined that you knew what you wanted,

I never pressed my lips against yours,

Nor whispered those kind words in your ear,

I am neither tender nor soothing,

Smooth maybe,

But still cold.

Perhaps there was someone else with you that night.

I keep my covers turned back,

An empty space on my bed,

Waiting endlessly,

Just for you,

And for you only.

But how long are you willing to wait,

For someone who may not come,

To fill the empty space on your bed.

How long are you willing to wait,

For someone who may not come,

Because they were filling the empty space in someone else's bed?

You may be cold,

But you are not treacherous,

Loyalty runs deeply through your veins,

Trickling through your bloody stream,

You may be unreliable,

And vastly unpredictable,

But you are no snake,

For your tongue is not fluent,

In the language of betrayal and deceit,

And for that I am willing to wait forever.

Who am I?

The boy who shall warm the empty space in my bed.

And who are you?

The boy whose bed whom you shall warm the empty space for.

Ah. But perhaps you are not the boy whose bed I shall warm.

And then?

Your scathing sarcasm drips like candle wax,

Twined with barbed wire,

The purpose of which is to sting and hurt,

And stomp upon my heart from within.

Sometimes I cannot tell whether or not you are lying to me,

Perhaps you are a snake,

For your tongue licks the kips of betral,

More so than it licks the lips of mine.

Now I am a snake?

A beautiful silver serpent that shall warm my bed at night.

You are childish in demeanor,

Demanding this and that of me,

In that selfish way of yours,

Passing it off in wide eyed innocence,

That only youth can manage,

And when you are done fluttering,

Those damned long eyelashes into my eyes,

I shall have become a man.

Perhaps you shall be the man who will warm the empty space in my bed.

And shall I warm your heart?

You have already warmed my heart.

Shall I break it?

You will break it only to give me thine own.

I have no heart.

If no heart,

I truly do wonder,

What beats so rhythmically,

In your chest,

When it is pressed,

Crushingly tight,

Against my own.

I hold your heart in my hands,

As you gave it to me last Christmas Eve,

Such a foolish and naïve gesture,

Beneath the falling snow,

We were both still children,

For you were so vulnerable,

As you are still,

Your green eyes trustingly locked onto mine,

As I took you places we've never gone before,

Midnighttrysts in the rose garden,

A necklace clasped around my neck is a constant reminder.

A reminder?

Of what I ask?

(beat)

Oh.

Those of trysts, licks, and dicks.

(beat)

There were no midnight trysts,

There were no rose gardens,

There was no falling snow.

(beat)

There was the increasing crescendo of moans,

That escaped from your perfectly puckered lips,

As you thrust yourself into me,

Over and over,

Harder and harder,

Hips grinding forcefully against mine,

Mewling and panting heavily into my ear.

Of course it should be you,

That rips apart the briefest of my romantic interludes,

With your brutal honesty,

And brazen words,

I used to like it when you talked dirty,

So crass and rough,

But you were so pure then,

Now that bygone whiteness contrasts so harshly,

With the dirt your skin has rolled in.

The dirt in which I have rolled in is you.

Dare I toss my hair back?

Dare I laugh in bitter tone?

You mock me.

And why should I not?

You still remind me of the wintertime,

With your ghostly touches,

And a quick breath of ice,

The frostiness that exudes from the depth of your eyes is real,

Your skin pale and wrought with cold,

Always cold no matter how close,

I drew you into me.

Now I will no longer linger on the curves of your body,

Be intoxicated by the scent of you,

And bring your face closer and closer to my own.

Because you no longer taste like winter,

The quick flick of your tongue,

Is a blatant reminder,

Of an anonymous lover's lips descendent upon thy own,

The heat emanating from you,

The scent seeping from your pores,

Is not your own,

Fake and artificial,

Like the love you never claimed you had for me.

That I was your game,

At your disposal,

Played across the threads of your predatory grin,

Like the lovestruck, dumbstruck fool that I was and still am.

I want to mark you and claim you with my own,

Let my lips and teeth write my name across your skin,

Pouring my love onto, into, and around you,

Until you suffocate in your own faithlessness.

(beat)

And I will stay here,

Tracing patterns on your flesh,

And try to make you my own again,

To melt you into spring.

(beat)

I am still the boy whose bed you shall warm.

I could be the boy you want me to be,

I could be that boy who warms your bed.

A brutal and unfaithful lover,

Is that want you wanted?

I wanted you.

You had me since the beginning,

You just did not want me,

For you are delusional in your ideals,

Of the true nature of love and hate,

You wanted someone stable,

Someone who would sing lullabies into your ear,

And hold your hand if you had a fitful dream,

You wanted me to be your perfect lover,

Which is something that I am not and never will be.

(beat)

No regrets.

You once told me that,

I knew many a thing that you did not,

But you were wrong were you not?

You knew all along,

That we were just a series of dry parchment,

A litter of broken quills,

Stuffed haphazardly into a keepsake box,

To be later burned black at the hearth of the fire.

You still think it is over between us,

You never even really believed in the two of us,

A preposterous idea to mock at the dinner table,

Just a game to be played and a game to be won,

A perverted twist of the cat and mouse,

Only we both danced into the fingertips of each other.

(beat)

I never was enough for you was I?

You were too much.

I still love you, you know.

I know.

Would it be silly of me to think,

That you would caress me,

And gently assuage my pain,

Just by whispering those three quiet words,

As you bite and nibble on my ear,

Is it harder now that it feels so real?

Rather than it be just another figment,

Of what you have deemed,

The creative imagination of a mere child?

I.

(beat)

I.

(beat)

I.

(kiss)

I will come and warm your bed tonight.