relapsing & repenting

By Cameron Keon Sykes

I looked into your eyes for the first time that day

and saw the sun

twinkling in strange shades of earthy browns and somber blues;

light dwindling as if the flames behind them suffocated silently.

The tears choked you as you left my room

for what I thought would be the last time.

Love is a cyclical form of torture, isn’t it?

I stare into the ceiling of this tiny dorm room

Until the ridges and cracks form smiles and laughs

and sparks turn to flames

then to raindrops.

A hurricane that probably won’t stop anytime soon

I laid awake there, dreaming

drifting. waiting.

Echoes of amber skin and velvet touch creeping into my chest,

of warm embraces

of letting the evening breeze kiss us goodnight

as we lose ourselves in one another.

Oh, how we’ve lost ourselves without each other.

Oh, how I loved the way stars shined through your bedroom window

like half-eaten ecstasy pills on dresser tops,

hidden just well enough for me to find.

Oh, how poison beckons to me from across the room

so that we may indulge in each other one more time,

like the tears didn’t fill my wine glasses.

Oh, my little Juliet.

Will our story end the same?

This dance we do,

this mad waltz of euphoria and shattered rosaries.

I listen as you orgasm to the sounds of clattering beads.

You, no longer the girl I fell in love with.

Me, no longer the boy who knew what love is.

I woke up one stale morning,

noticing that the sun began to laugh at my desperation.

Baby, did I ever tell you about the definition of insanity?

It’s painting your body onto bed sheets the same way each night,

hoping you’ll change your answer when I ask

if you still love me?

I lay there awake,

for the first time in ages,

awake.

Sitting up in bed as you slept.

The bags and blemishes removed from your face for the first time

in a while

You looked more beautiful than you ever had.

I decided right then that it was time to leave you.

I wanted to lock this moment behind my rib cage

and pretend my heart was still beating for you.

I wish it wasn’t still beating for you.

I prayed to the God we spoke of on those nights where we sinned

with his name on lips dripping with caramel

and bruises.

I prayed, hoping that I would find something new

something whole

not another hole I try to fill myself with.

I ended it this time over a text.

I prayed one last time that you found happiness,

that you found God again.

I left the knife you bought me lying on my nightstand,

reminding me of a time before temptation

and healing

and prayers

and prayers.

@storiesbyprophet