“You….you are my light, and you want to be my dark.”
Bruised lips, justified in increments, understood but not uncontested.
I breathe you in the way the rain breaks the sky.
You uncripple me; I become undevoted to task, divested of purpose, without self or center. I am lost less in concept then in act, and you are my false hope, the benefactor of my unmoored desires. False prophetess, you are the closest thing I have to a word for freedom. All other words were left behind, the well-intentioned and the devil’s part, cast off in a broken trail like breadcrumbs.
Never trust a wolf, especially if the wolf is your better half.
He’ll devour the breadcrumbs and then he’ll devour you.
I still like your writing, though I come and go infrequently. This piece was synchronistic. I dreamt of wolves in May, and then I happened to see one up close not long after. Cross my soul, I did. It’s only coincidence, a nice one though.