In the height of fever,
sweat strips me like
a bad dream and I remember
the way you’d look at me with
spite by your fire eyes, and in my
tossing and turning I wish to
forget.
In this heat I once
took solace; you were my furnace
and you kept my hands warm.
Now I cannot find you,
cannot try to, do not want to.
You are not
who you once were.
This bad dream is not a dream
for I am wide awake, my dilated eyes
and sweaty forehead fixated like a compass
on the ceiling, stuck pointed upwards,
a sinister reminder: heat rises.
Sometimes who we once were
makes us forget who
we’ve become.
You are a stranger with memories,
and I’m burning to
abandon them.
sweat strips me like
a bad dream and I remember
the way you’d look at me with
spite by your fire eyes, and in my
tossing and turning I wish to
forget.
In this heat I once
took solace; you were my furnace
and you kept my hands warm.
Now I cannot find you,
cannot try to, do not want to.
You are not
who you once were.
This bad dream is not a dream
for I am wide awake, my dilated eyes
and sweaty forehead fixated like a compass
on the ceiling, stuck pointed upwards,
a sinister reminder: heat rises.
Sometimes who we once were
makes us forget who
we’ve become.
You are a stranger with memories,
and I’m burning to
abandon them.
