Battle of our chests
There is a war rallied between our hearts:
some people say love,
other people play love.
But when life becomes a game,
when words can only be spoken by characters,
when breath can only be projected by theatre
then I lose myself...so you lose me....and I risk losing you....
And the curtains fall shut -
And the dice stops rolling -
We lost the bet.
But life cannot take over either
because the love has gotten lost in the in between,
on this liminal bridge.
There is gunfire from your lips,
rifles forming the ends of your fingers,
Grenades burning in your blush.
Do you love me?
Or do you love to play love?
Because I once did, but look where it got us...
Every time we hold hands my fingers bleed
And when our bodies come together they could light a match,
We are dangerous!
And I constantly feel this burning in my chest
as though a forest fire is spreading from rib to rib,
tearing my insides down.
I am sure you buried an explosive somewhere behind my soft tissues of fat.
I can feel it ticking when you leave me
and I constantly feel it - may - just - burst.
But I'm tired of feeling this way,
I'm tired of the games we play.
I'm tired of treading the minefield in your chest,
of staring at the gun barrels in your face,
of feeling the battle wounds engraved onto my skin by your sharp tongue.
I'm tired of this!
Because the only way to win is to lose all feeling...
And I'm not a carnival mask, an elegant performance, a porcelain chess piece.
Feeling is what keeps me human.
But does it keep me sane?