The problem with electricity is that its relative.
It pulses through our veins, makes us feel alive.
But if used incorrectly leaves you half dead in a hallway somewhere.
And I've always been more than prone to sticking forks in light sockets.
For just one second of peace and fucking quiet in my head.
The demons and whispers were so quiet as your electricity ran through me.
A soft hum, and gentle vibration that you would leave imprinted over me even when you weren't around.
You are somehow both dark and light.
The pullback in the night to my worst nightmares and the kiss on my forehead to wake up to.
You are a crack of lightning and I was a kite with a key.
An echo in my head no amount of static can drown out.
When you left all the lights turned off
That's how they've stayed.
Part of me hopes you'll stop by with a lantern and at least allow me enough light to find my route
But I know that after everything the batteries ran out.
The streetlights that are my heart and moral compass have completely burnt out.
My heart is the static between the carpets and my fresh socks, sending jolts through me each time I find myself on the anecdotal path that is now you.
You are now an anecdote. You are now an empty house with all the lights off. You are a complete and total power outage of the soul.
So why is it that I want so badly for you to turn the lights back on?