between our opposing romanticisms...

You never found any amusement    
in my darkest romanticisms  
   
there was nothing beautiful    
about the way I cut your name into my arm    
as a testament to pain    
and a memory of how you possessed me  
enough that I tried to carve    
my way through blood    
and straight into your heart    
   
you looked down at me for my suicidal notions    
and I hid my deepest pains from you    
for fear of your glass wall rejections    
   
there was no glory in the retreat    
from your affections    
the more I needed you    
the less you wanted me    
and the less you wanted me    
the more I vied for your attention    
   
I still die in the photograph of your eyes  
every time I dare to reminisce    
you have the saddest gaze I have ever seen    
so deep that I could drown in the reflection of it  
while trying to find the key to your heart    
   
and we never shared more than a fleeting glance  
at the pain our bodies could create    
entwined in the memory of a dream    
we dared not let ourselves remember  
   
no, you never found any amusement    
in my darkest romanticisms  
or the way I’d have let you hurt me    
   
because violence is a secret love  
I understand    
   
© Indie Adams 2012