He is a million differences,
a contradicting slow confusion.
He throws me love, too high
I jump; to catch it and feel illusion burn.
When I land he is hiding
behind a grey smoke screen
of dreams, living for fantasy.
He hands some to me, and I see him
staring through grey mist
he walks in a black garden
of white flowers and dark grass
Looks around him, seeing nothing
Calls to me to show him the
Colours.
I cannot see if he wants to see the
colours
Really.
I feel pain when his blood rises
high – never failing to burn him –
he is very careful to touch me.
He senses my movement in the garden now,
Blows me a cold blue kiss
I feel ice and frost on my lips
try to warm it, feel the pain hiss
wanting more and more of this
angel, now a devil
Now an old man, now a child.
I am mesmerised and hypnotised
falling down down in the garden
grey smoke dancing over me.
He will lay down and the grass turns green
still blowing cold kisses, colours coming to his
closed-eyes dream of wet cold tears
hard and soft on his cheek.
When he stands
the colours drain away
hot blood rushes through my veins.
I am terrified to let go of him
lest I should stand alone in the grey mist just as well.
Without him.
The rain falls hardly softly on his head
he blows cold kisses to the wind.
I run to catch them, his eyes see something, clear cut sharp tears
tell me so. He makes his choice
and turns away.
Play the game, play the game
“Walk out of the garden,” I say,
and his blood starts dripping insane.
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