i wish the floors of this house weren't crafted with tiles.
stepping on ceramic is refreshing in the summertime, chilled feet in sultry heat makes the sweetest of sensations.
but there is a permanent winter where we reside.
crossing over the cream colored slates creates a brutal displeasure.
it is quite unfortunate that our carpet is caustic.
the burns from the chemicals have covered our legs with sharp stings.
we act blissful while bearing pain- it hasn't been acute enough to kill us yet.
but we are breathing on borrowed time- while we haven't been brave enough to speak it, you and i both understand the actuality that we will have to leap from this carpet eventually.
but i'm scared to cross the tiles.
i am an acrobat on a tightrope- one wrong move is an irreversible imminence.
my toes are squirming inside of my shoes, i am eager to leap, but terrified to take the mere first step.
we are travelers on an ancient expedition- we must pass through mayan caves to meet our treasure.
but i'm afraid that one of us will make the wrong move and trigger a trap.
i'm afraid that the ground will open up and swallow you whole.
and worse, that apathetically, you will allow it.
you tell me that you love me
yet you have captured and caged me, restricted me with restraints.
departure is obviously difficult, we already
know that we lament leaving one another.
so why do you have to make it so goddamn hard?
reducing in rising waters and sinking in small ships is appealing.
we are both entranced by the poetic notion of letting the flames wilt us to embers-
a sweet self destruction.
i want to ruin myself, but i don't want to wound you in the crossfire.
and i know that you feel this way about me too.
we cannot stay here forever.
so please, let's perceive that pain does not equal permanence.
let's endure the chill of the tiles for a moment, let's traverse them to separate from the vicinity.
because i refuse to live in a haunted house for one moment longer.
