Tangled in my sheets, I'd swear that the thoughts running through every fiber of my being were bullets shot off by good intent. I'm sinking on my own, enough to pull anyone out of their charmed life and into an extent of reality. A head case caught once in a mix of terrifying tragedy and honest disposition. How easily I set off the ticks you set up, knocked down as easily as the feathers among a bird's breast; pierced with the metal tips of it's warm, red death to be soon met with the cold hand of the faith. This mockery of love, this foolish cure to loneliness. Darkness could cloud my blood like the ink so often forgotten. Once the presence is gone, the thoughts linger on these shadows, in the crooked smile I forget to hide and in the hours before dawn. We're both alone.
Once I breathe the shallow depths of the dead and self knowing, all will be forgotten.
Until then, there is you.