I don't know
if my words still belong to me
or if I pawned them
in one of our many
moments of weakness
You came, I swallowed, you succumbed
but we built no empire
and I kept questioning
whether we were gazing
into the same abyss
you loved
you cried
you forgave
and I just felt
like the phantom limb of the opera
you were light and smoke and ashes
and I was 50 shades of Dorian Gray
slowly decaying
in your attic
I’m Icaros’ budget wings
If I fall
I’m gonna drag you down with me
and shy away from memories
of being waterboarded in your eyes
of building trenches
in your open wounds
of starting crusades
in your heathen veins
yet I still feel you
your words etched into my spine
like awkward laughter and wasted whisky
the war has not yet begun
and we are already losing
history is cringing
philosophers become prostitutes
and turns out
my inner child
was a drunken hobo all along
yet clouds with silver linings
are scratching my lungs to pieces
yet plague
is dancing underneath my skin
yet decaying shower nymphs
are singing in my pores
you called me a muse among mice
and I just stopped calling
I'm too young for eternal love
I'm too old for objective truth
and we were just
a moment on the lips
forever on the zeitgeist