Feelings about two people

This is a freestyle poem I made from Tim's perspective.

To touch is to hurt. And to hurt is to be alive.
Which must explain why my existence has never been lively.
It must explain why my calloused hands have been cold since I was a child. 
To show there is nothing living about me.
A warning sign to others that I am much like barbed wire then something with flesh.
So as I sit here holding your crying form on this hotel carpet.
I burn. 
I feel your nails rip into my skin as your tears flood and tide within me.
I burn and I am burning and I am burning with you.
And in this moment, as my body itches for isolation.
I feel a warm in me I am so forein to.
I am in pain.
I am hurting.
I.
Am.
Alive.
And I realize in this moment.
I would rather lay here in the antagonizing feeling of you ripping the flesh off my bones then feel the comfort that is being without your touch.

I will burn alive in you every time. I will choose that. Every time. I will choose you.

And of course I wrote a little something to go along with it.

Tim rocked Jay gently. Stroking his hair as he rubbed his back. Letting Jay devour him in his touch. His nails digging into Tim's flannel. Almost cutting skin. Desperation to be comforted. To feel less alone. A feeling Tim yearned for as well. 

Tim pressed himself into the other. Closing in whatever space was left. Bringing them both as close together as they could become. Letting his arms wrap around the other man's frail form. His own fingers found home in the cloth that hung from Jay's back. Both men resting their head in the crane in the others neck. Tim could feel his shirt begin to dampen. But that didn't bother him. 

In this moment, not even God itself could move the men from each other. It was a painful bliss. Soft and muffled sobs mixed and danced with the sound of gentle words of nothingness and shushes. The dim light from the street lamp outside was the only thing that could see this moment for what it truly was. Tragically poetic. A moment in time to be forgotten and to never be touched again. Only to be viewed through desperate and sad eyes as they reflect on what could have been in another time. What could have been if they were given just a little more time in this one. Frantic minds and hands searching for a heaven that long fell for them both. Two souls damned to never get where they wish. To never live to their soft epilogue. They sit in their own sealed fate and let themselves flourish in their antagonizing love. Knowing when the time comes. They will both be left cold. But never regret. 

They will burn themselves alive so when they are once again alone, the scars of a painful love will lay them in their grave much more gently then they could ever lower each other. 

To sit in a room. To feel their flesh be ripped from their bones. To be scared is to love. And to love is to be alive. And to be alive is to burn. And to burn it hurts. And to hurt is to touch. 

And they will choose to burn alive in each other each and every time.

Till Next Time -KW