Perhaps
You have wounded me.
You have ambushed me, attacked me,
taunted and tortured me,
and now hold me captive.
But you have not beaten me.
These bruised eyes remain set in defiance;
this bloody mouth keeps its secrets shut inside.
I will not give you thousands of lives to add to those you have already taken.
Can you not feel how I loathe you?
And yet…
I admire you.
I admire your precision.
Your cruel words are a craft,
Each barb carefully chosen, honed, polished, and poisoned.
I admire your confidence.
The surety in your voice and sense of purpose in your step–
I recognize and admire these
For they are also my own.
I even admire the darkness within you,
in the way that one who gazes into an abyss
wishes to know its depths.
Step closer.
Let me see the ice in your eyes.
Let me feel the sweet, piercing irony of the warmth that grows in me
as you talk of freedom,
of escape.
Perhaps we are not so different.
We could leave this together,
join our bloodstained hands and stand tall, as one.
We could be rebels
together, you and I.
Perhaps…
But you rake your fingers
(gently)
across my flesh,
opening fresh lacerations and rubbing in the burning salt of your speech.
Oh agony! Oh, how vile is your hatred!
…viler still is my morbid captivation.
I beg you, touch me again.
Strike me,
crush me,
envelop me in your darkness,
and I will fill you with light.
Oh, you are my illness,
My virus,
My destruction.
Your kiss is that of death,
And I welcome suicide by your lips.
whump. whump.
Hear the throbbing of my pulse and the humming in the air?
Whump. Whump.
My heart lifts on an updraft
as he rushes to my aid.
Whump. Whump.
He is my friend, my hope,
my savior and my pseudo-son.
And he has come for me.
WHUMP. WHUMP.
I will escape,
Whole and unbeaten,
and I will grieve for
what
could
have
been.