Kiss me, I whisper
as I grind my tongue across the dust of teeth
and memorize the metal
that was once blood in my mouth.
I think I dreamed of you once
in a far off place
where there was nothing between us
I fell in love
like I was going down stairs:
simple until you slip
and crack your head open at the bottom,
bleeding out before the gates of Hell.
Sometimes I consider clawing at that door,
screaming across that barrier
of space and time and enmity,
to see if you feel the same way.
Because at least feeling the pain together
is not quite so lonely,
no matter who it’s with.
But instead I whisper,
because I know it’s more meaningful
to ask for a kiss
in a whisper instead of a shout.
if I scream for you to suck out my soul
people might start to talk.
Sarah Young is a writer and proofreader from Ft. Worth Texas. She has a bachelor degree in Journalism from the University of North Texas with a specialty in digital and print writing. She also has a minor in social sciences with a focus on gender and LGBT studies. Sarah identifies as agender and prefers she or they pronouns.