Sometimes reality catches up with the fantasy. Sometimes a cold of the body or mind intefers from the projection of perfection i try to initiate. Sometimes even the stars don’t shine bright enough for my liking. Sometimes the rainbows bend and morph turning black and blue dripping blood and ink and lose their mystique. Some days you could give me a rose garden and I’d bitch about the thorn that pricked my finger. Sometimes i want to be everything for you but when i see you i crumble. You pick up my broken pieces and perform kintsugi on me like a heart surgeon emitting gold from his fingertips. Sometimes i work so hard on the dream in my mind that by the time i arrive i am spent. Massage my legs, my forehand, massage my mind. Remind me that i am safe. Project your telepathy on self worth.
Forever down, down, down, down, never up, you follow me down the spiral staircase that is my endless big empty. The void swallows me whole. You wear armour. Untouched by the stench of melancholy that surrounds me like a a dirty aura. We plan a night of myth and legends but instead i tremble, makeup runs, i fall into your arms and breathe in your essence as if you are my oxygen. Instead of feeding my fire you hold me tight and watch Doctor sleep. We morph into each other, bodies and soul collide. You hold me tight, pet my hair. I cry for you. I cry to you. All the bottled up tears are set free. I am reminded i have magic in myself. I am reminded you are the catalyst. Everything turns to gold. I can see myself Better when i see me through your eyes.
The Beatnik alchemist 