When once they were a solace to be sought within your arms, now they too have deserted you. Even within my dreams I cannot be vulnerable with you anymore. Even within my fantasies, beneath the dusky backgrounds of my closed lids, I cannot paint you without the brustrokes of damnation, I cannot articulate without the whiplas of a tongue forked and split in anger and hate. The oiled suppleness coated in the smoothness of affection has dried, cracked amongst the desert of my desertion.
I miss who you used to be. Who you are I dont even like.