Satan reincarnate: You're my Poetry

Poet

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"Hey, you." He whispered down to me, his soft pink lips moving just how I remembered them- like lead and gold. They still strummed the harp carved into my nearly broken heart.

I sat, unresponsive as the lights seemed to twinkle off his bright milk white skin. The world paused, and all time seemed to stop as it synchronized with my barely beating organs. I felt like the girl I was again, so long ago. Not the tired, beaten down excuse for a woman he had always taken me for; eventually I took myself for aswell. But, the little girl fresh out of her childhood home, excited to take the world into her sweet, naive embrace. I felt the same pain in my chest I had felt every time I would look at him, gazing deep into his nonchalant eyes. Even though for the longest time he was only a memory, he still had yet to lack the ability of taking my breath away; mentally sweeping me off my feet. He vanquished a burn in my heart that I didn't even know was there until I felt his presence. I was hurt, so hurt he had left me. Hurt that he would give me false hope every now and again, and hurt how he completely disappeared after he finally said he loved me; after he finally acted like it. All the time of waiting for it, and I didn't even realize until he left me. Left me to rot in that bed.

I was sentimental when it came to people, but I never could have him as just a burning memory. Anyone else, but not him. For so long it felt like my mind was missing, and my heart took its place. When he went missing, so did my world. It was embarrassing to say- but I was truly nothing without him.

Seeing him look before me was similar to the feeling of taking the glass dagger as it embedded itself deep in my chest- yet also the morphine that had the pain succumbing into it. I avoided his eyes once I realized- realized who was finally standing before me. My gaze lacked contact with his body, because I knew if I let myself look then I couldn't look away. I fixed my eyes on his old leather boots, the same bulky ones he had on that first night in the gas station. Now that- that was a burning memory.

"Look at me." His whispered grew colder and closer as he kneeled down to me, his soft hand moving to embraced my sheltered knee.

I froze, like ice trying desperately not to fall into the touch of velvet blue flames. He was like a dog- it had always made me deeply afraid at how well he could read me. Practically like it was on a sign taped to my forehead. I had always thought about it- if he didn't choose to be a psychopath he was make an amazing psychologist. He knew when I lied, when I was thinking, and even what I was thinking about. Yet, I could never see through his like he could see through me. To put in in perspective- he was like a glass of gasoline to me. Opaque. To him, I was basically a glass of water from the Mississippi rivers. Nudely transparent.

I held my breath- and tears -looking at his soft manicured hands as they cradled the knees he used to push me down on.  They traveled from my nervous bones, near my nervous heart. He brushed my shoulders, feeling the goosebumps he would cause me. This felt just like the first time he abducted me, except in the instance I knew I loved him and I knew what he was capable of.

My breath was rugged as my eyes kept away from him, and he slowly led me out the back door. He lead me by my elbow, just like he always had. It was almost like I was reliving everything I survived through.. the irony almost turned me green. However, this time he was acting out of love- not bloodlust. I had hoped.

My heart was caught in my throat and my body tensed as he slowly shut the door behind him, gently pushing me behind if after the door clicked shut. I waited so long for this, so long I hadn't even anticipated the fear it was ultimately bring me. I always acted out of logic until it came to him. All I wanted was him, to be his. But, I had to think. He left you for a reason, Angelina. Was he even supposed to come back?

I was void. I felt weak when it came to him, to the point I physically couldn't process emotion. I was still afraid he would abuse me back down into the vulnerable little girl I tried to hard to outgrow without him. He was so relaxed, relaxed tot he point where I knew he could see me this whole time, but I just couldn't see him. Sometimes the fact he was a trained stalker didn't cross my mind. Only God knew where he had been.

I remember, this alley in this coffee shop was the same one he dragged me into by my hair back in 2009. I remember, and I shouldn't ever forget. Couldn't ever forget when our story first begun.

Some would call it a fairy tale to be with him, but those comments came from the girls who never went through it. I would've killed them myself before he got his hands on their poor souls. The closest my experience with him would ever get to a fairytale was if it was written by the Brothers Grimm. I held my breath at the familiar alley he held me down by my hair in, held a blade to my veins, tendons, while he screamed at me to cry. Remembering what he had blinded me to forget. But I still somehow found some way to fall in love with him. Madly.

I tended, feeling one of his heavy, yet dainty hands on my hip. I was standing in front of him at this point, my eyes on the ground as I tried to sensibly figure out what I should've done. I was so close to succumbing into his touch, melting into the arms I had longed to wake up in for so long. I even made a calendar to count the days without him.

"Angelina." He mumbled. Him saying my name made sparks fly, reigniting the life in my heart I thought I had lost forever. I closed my eyes, my lips on his deep in my imagination. I had forgotten his voice, including the way he sounded when he said my name. He had changed, it was obvious just by the way he spoke. I was hoping it wasn't a delusion. His voice was a foreign song, always making me drown in a lake of my own thoughts and tears. "Please, let me see those eyes. It's been too long." He inhaled, his voice just as ruggedly handsome as he was.

I squeezed my eyes shut every more, forcing my head to stay on the ground. One of his hands gripped my hip, his other exploring the curvature of my neck. I slightly parted my lips, inhaling the scent of his beauty in the air as he spun me to face him.

"Let me see the face I've dreamed of for long. The face I've written poems about for what seemed like a millennia." He said, he voice clearer. The beauty of his words tilted my head up, a pink flush surely visible on my face.

He always had a way with words, that damned mouth always wiping my mind clean from everything but him. I slowly- but surely raised my head, noticing every difference he made through the years. My eyes finally met his, my breath taken away yet again.

The man, the man claiming to be my poet. His beauty was utterly timeless, clogging my throat with a desperation and pain that longed for him.

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