if I didn’t already know.
that I’d be lying in that crypt forever
(you’d never look for me there).
I’d already lie there.
with pale blue lips.
fooling the living.
to thinking my life was over.
because it feels that way.
those moments when you look at me with hollow eyes.
and I wonder if you really cared
(did you ever).

you have no dagger.
hidden in your clothes.
ready to end your life without me.
you don’t know that I’m standing here next to you.
dying a little every day.
a little more dead with every heartbeat. 

(I write all my feelings about you in a notebook with a bird on the cover.
emotions translated into ink.
red.
blue.
green.
black.
I change the colour of the ink again and again.
as if it would make any difference.
me writing my feelings in different colours.) 

and then you touch me.
as if you cared about me.
as if I was someone you wanted to keep warm when I was cold.
but I’m cold all the time.
because you’re not here.
more than a few
fleeting
fiddling moments. 

so I sit in my crypt.
freezing.
pale and blue.
waiting for you.
for your dagger to find its last resting place.
in my heart.