Approaching Zero

Asymptote

When you said you loved me,

it was somewhere between a growl and a moan.

Hoarse, inhuman, desperate.

It cut me to the bone and there it sunk in,

as it's want to do

--holding, trapping--

I don't know what you actually said,

My name.

One of your foreign tongues.

I do know that I wanted to crawl inside your skin.

I wanted to be your marrow.

I wanted to breath your lungs and drink your blood and eat your thoughts.

I wanted the world that sustained me to be you, and I wanted you to need to sustain me.

It's messy.

It's not a pretty thought.

It's dark and selfish and possessive.

I wanted to consume you until there's nothing left of the two of us.

And that's the closest I can get to "love".