age quod agis

owned by this, consumed by this

soft swelling beneath my 
eyelids
my head says
you need to go
back
but your pot laced 
face,
crackling hair lain against
my shoulder
a warm reminder in 
the dead of winter,
a cold sip of water
a hot innuendo
my reminder that
i am 
part
of reality
you make me 
real
but then, a faint trace of 
my enigmatic
nightmare
my hand-sewn, bitter dreams
comes rushing back to 
fill the spaces with 
dripping tears
and i curl away
and
i fade
for the 
last
time