poem: ode to la belle dame sans merci

i say i don’t think about you

and i don’t. i crave you, long for you; my ink reeks of your breath.

you were my lover. i discarded sanity at your whimsy. i was your lover, and i thought my heart and soul would suffice.
you showed me truth without mercy, and i leaked grief. i thought i smelled salt water in my bathtub and held my breath beneath the bubbling surface, searching for salvation at the mouth of the plug hole as Fever took me in its arms and rocked me ever-slowly towards death.

i was senseless and i was wracked with desire, and i was your lover. i framed you in rose’s dew, ate thorns and lilies and grew flowers in the pit of my stomach; sick, i became, with beauty;
we were beautiful. we were dreamers and dreams themselves; i implore you, i ask –

have you no pity
for the weak, the loving, and the loyal?

– t. bennett / @raggedhearts

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