struck

+   *.  .  . *      *    .  +   .       + .   *+   ..   * .     .   *  .   + *

struck

as the fog takes up my vision

every one of your words became song

pats on the back were like knives

backstabbed myself when blood was drawn

from my heart

staining our hands

you may not have seen it nor cared;

but i cannot unsee the red on your palms

the very same pair that i wish you could

run your fingers across my hair, or

take me to places you'd promised me we'd go

or

no, i don't deserve such wishes

i spilled my guts out and now i have to clean it up.

show me your hands, I'll wash it off for you

i will try my best not to taint your light

it would be a shame if i lost it all right now

all my devotion would be for nothing

oh,

but such bad timing it was

everything was so fast and so far away

i just had to collapse in the midst of it all

on my back, exposing myself to the stars

i hope you didn't see past the busyness. 

that would be embarrassing.

but you offered your hands anyways

you didn't even wince at all

the way light warps around your face

made you as beautiful as the stars.

i was about to reach for it but

i didn't want to ruin your face

+   *.  .  . *      *    .  +   .  *    + .   *+   ..   * .     .   *  .   + *

prequel to "dust allergy"

thanks for reading