Nonverbally

how is it possible

for you to lie to me?

how is it possible

that I believed you?

I know the tension

isn't just a fragment

of my imagination.

your veins,

and the blood rushing through them,

tell me you feel it too.

why do you intoxicate me

with your poison?

why do you try

to keep me begging for the cure?

I don't need you

to find a way

to cure myself.

your words,

so loud and clear,

say one thing.

but your body says another.

which do I listen to,

the words you so harshly spit out,

or the way your skin feels against mine?

which do I listen to,

the way you deny,

or the way you ask?

complexity,

in its purest form,

is you.

—myself between dusk and dawn