Hypersomnia

I met you and then I never closed my eyes again.

Reality always averted me in your presence,

making me float through time as if your love never buried me six feet under ground,

and placed a single rose on top of the coffin your bare hands carved out of lust.

You met me and I became the highest point of the mountain you kept falling over.

Vertigo never saved you from letting thoughts of me push you over the ledge,

as the wind carried my splintered scent all the way down to the bottom.

I met you and then I stopped breathing.

Fatigue restrained my lungs from breaking out of this cage,

while your memory crawled into the corners of my mind and planted a tree of poisoned regret.

You met me and I became the bottle of pills you often washed down with a sigh and smile.

Laying between her thighs couldn't erase the stutter of my name clouding your judgment,

or the agony of being powerless against the stubborn grip I have around your heart.

I met you and then you came to life within the pages of my paperback novel.

Inertia plagued my midnight footsteps,

while I tried to navigate though the murky waters of this nightmare.

You met me and I became the favorite bar you ended up stepping into at the end of a sleep deprived day.

Even when her filthy whispers and her alluring aroma of bad habits reminded you of spending days within my embrace,

your skin would never quite burn as bright as it did without the fuse of pain I provided you.