how to not die alone(on hold)

some empty room somewhere in greece

there's honey dripping from his still eyes,
soft buzzing in his chest, that sweetness,
its rolling to the back of his head, filling his ears,
some gooey vulnerability, glueing his aching skull to the floor,
and this, heavy ichor leaking through palms,
trying to catch itself like a prayer.

some fragility later maybe,
the gentle nectar hardening, snapping, stealing all vision with it,
these
stinging wounds that taste so sweet
and you'll love that he tears apart for you like honeycomb
and he'll stare at the ceiling wondering why this void smells like syrup