You don’t get it.
You don’t get how much it scares me, watching you with her, dreading the moment you’ll pull her tight, kiss her lips and breathe in her ghastly beauty. It terrifies me, that grip she has on you, like the grip of death to hospital rooms, like the grip of grief to cemeteries, she holds on to you, relentless like the cold on to cadavers, like the shiver freezing up my spine.
Her hair, the dull of all that is gray, to you a million silver linings. Vacant eyes glaring, and you peek back to brand new possibilities. Her lips, cracked like barren land, yet you’ve managed to find shelter under every rock. Skin so ashen it’s barely there, still manages to illuminate yours with renewed bliss.
Your corpse bride, scalding your cheeks, burning your lips into a smile and suffocating your mind. Spinning, into an endless whirlwind till you drown in her aura, so thick is the smoke around you my dear, you have become a mere haze. You’ll kiss her I know, kiss her every chance you get, breathe her in, let her invade your lungs, make it her shrine, reminding me that you’re not all mine, reminding you that you’re not all yours, reminding us, that there is no queen here but her. No right-hand men, no council, no advisers, just her. And you, an obedient lover.
You don’t get that you can walk away, you can run, sprint and break free. Run like you are chased by death, a thousand times over I’ll cheer you on. You don’t need to wait till you have to cough her out, because darling, that cigarette will not hesitate to pull your soul along with it.
Simply Hala 