Alive and Dying
by
darkstar
Disclaimer: Like I said, Logan's mine. Fox can have all the rest, but Wolvie-boy is MINE. Don't even think about sending those lawyers. I have deployed land mines in the front yard for just such occasion.
Archive: i would be honored, only please let me know :)
Dedication: To Jenn, because she inspired this to the point where she might as well have written it.
Author's Notes: I intended to post the nice, shippy piece I wrote during Spanish today, but after reading more of Jenn's amazing "Illusions", i am compelled to write something dark and twisted. Or is it just that my Muse is mad because her writer's block shows no signs of breaking, and she wants to take her frustrations out on someone. . . .
to hate, maybe, is the
darkest kind of love and it
consumes, to burn like
passion when all the lights of the soul
have gone out.
if that is true then you, my dear,
my sweet sweet little agony,
are the only-always-one- i adore.
because you told me we were human.
you made me believe it, too.
and kissing you seduced the demons
into angels.
but you forgot to mention that we had
to come up for air sometime.
and if that air has been poisoned. . .
what then?
screaming curses at the wallpaper.
i saw your face last night. . .
watched you dance
just outside my consciousness like a
sliver under the mind.
if that is true then you are really gone,
yet you haunt my reality
your ghost the only tangible i see.
because mortality means just that.
whether or not we want to believe.
and they are always one step ahead of
our last hope.
but you forgot to mention that when we
exposed our hearts they could be
ripped away. now that you are torn
what then?
fleeing the bottom of the shotglass.
i can't bear what i've become.
all broken mirrors,
and shattered soulmates. . . .it's so easy to
cut your fingers on the shards.
if that is true then you are my blood
the crimson curse of life within me
the liquid of my heart, my love.
because i put flowers on your grave today,
drowned in cheap whiskey and cheaper regret.
and did i mention i passed your killer in the hall?
in the mirror. . . .
for you forget to hate me, and in the in-between
i let them win you to the Noble Cause they served.
and now that you are sacrificed
what then?
to hate, maybe, is the
purest kind of love and it
transcends, burning all
the little memories of us into my soul
as it crumbles.
for it is true, my dear, that you
are the hate borne from my love.
the holy name i kill the shadows by
your sacred plus my profane. . .
because there are more than enough bullets
to avenge you
but never enough faith
to carry on alone.
i'm alive as seven deadly sins
but always dying. . .
what then?
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