The last time I wrote you I loved you so blind,

you, of all people, not the rest of your kind…

Had my mind in your palm and your teeth in my chest,

god, I was sure that you’re worse than the rest.

A substance I’ve tasted for the very first time.

And for what? So for the rest of my life I can no longer pretend

that I’m fine?

you’re toxic and drinking your poison is painful

But day in and day out you say — I should be grateful

Don’t need the next cigarette, daydream or drink

But it’s numbing my pain so I don’t have to think

About future, or money or castles of gold,

F*ck, I swear — this is how you’re last lover was sold

A fantasy of certainty and safety.

Where is she?

…

Where am I?

Or to quote Placebo –

where is my mind?

The feeling of losing someone so dear is way better

than being lost and only tasting the bitter

Intoxicating poison you raise in my throat…

Let me choke, oh, please, just let me choke.

And let me out of the choke-hold so frozen and evil,

your hands are no longer the good place, their grip so tight

it’s barely legal.

Lethal.

You’re stare reminds of a dusty poison ivy leaf,

The green eyes to kill for — they will kill me in my sleep.

…

Halsey serenaded some crystal green irises in her latest song,

And don’t understand me wrong,

I would still write a ballad about yours,

Filled with late night angst

and swear words…

It would still be yours, imperfect and fragile, and crazy,

Just like the author, irrelevant, hazy,

Teachable, but a slow learner and a quick burner,

The artsy and weird kind, you know, not a head-turner.

She will, however, stay close to your righteous and distant self,

Not because she’s courageous or looking for help.

There’s no help to be found while you bury her fading will,

and yet, she still see’s the emerald eyes and goes –

Be still, my beating hard, be still.

– JW