Stained parchments

Love, 

It's unbeknownst to mankind that our infatuation transcends beyond the visual representations of affection, of empathy, of endearment and underlying tenderless. 

You're a deer caught in headlights, you ache and reek of desperation as it seeps and clouds your mind, it destroys you. 

Your love remains a mystery for some, a disdain for others, a vigour yet desolate anguish for me. It's me.

You hurt the one you love, darling. 

The peak exhaustion builds up and collapses like the many damns falling prey to human tendency and getting lost in the flow of Infinitude, in the vastness of it all. 

Your rough calloused fingertips touch my forehead gently, as a preceding threaten to halt my shuddering self, you wail and wail and wail and wail and torment the deep chambers of your mind and wail until you run out of profanities to bless your calm yet trembling facade with. 

It's a show. A show. A show to bring destructive havoc over the bittersweet innocence you once possessed. Let go. 

Love me and let me go.

Kiss my bloody knuckles and return the lost warmth, cause it to whiten and tighten and fist your fingers. 

Love me like Eurydice's vows, let my tragedy morph Orpheus's death, let our sins be pardoned, let hell slit and rift and heaven subside, let the rivers stop gracefully while the earth howls hysterically, let time cessare and open all windows for repentance and yet, 

Let me go. 

Free your love for her to soar the high skies and low lands. Free her. Free me.