Standard disclaimer applies.
Sometimes I feel your eyes on me. Picking apart my actions. A slight prickle, like that of an insect crawling upon my skin.
I hate that feeling.
But it is far worse when you refuse to look at me. Eyes glazed over in the euphoria of your drug addiction. The onslaught of depression tangible in the air as you strive to drive away your ill humours with these concoctions.
Perhaps I could find a manner in which to occupy your body, to keep you active.
Although it appears that fighting seems to do nothing for you unless you find yourself beaten to a pulp.
Do your fatalistic intentions fascinate you so much?
I want to make it so that it is not
"I will die for you"
but rather,
"I will live for you"
by your side of course. Together.
I find your eyes, my hand caressing your jaw, wishing that you'd see me again. The ghoul you become on this drug repulses me.
Instead a whimper is released as my hand finds the needle still in your arm, removing the device. Followed by the release of your tourniquet. A smile drifts across your face, you are in the clouds, my dear friend.
Sitting in the sky was meant for birds, as a man you will merely be falling, wet, out of control.
But it seems to be your desire. That dreamy smile so rare.
Even though it breaks my heart.