I'm jealous.
Green in every sense of the word,
And my stomach turns just thinking about how close he is to you...
How he lays against you ever so gingerly,
And I'm afraid he will never know what warmth feels like.
Unless, of course, it's in the form of liquid coursing through his body,
And every bottle is a step closer to you and further from his dream,
If he could only get around his self-esteem to reach it.
But doubt breaches the outtermost layers of the labyrinth
And snakes its way in to penatrate the places only accessable through clad-iron locks,
And now he is stuck in the box that he's trying to think outside of...
And that's where you come in.
I don't know whether to applaud or look at you in disdain,
But either way,
The stain that will soon rest on your chest will be of your hands.
Your tantalizing lies of a better life can only satiate fo so long.
The caged bird can only sing so many songs before its vocal chords rupture,
And this structure that you have built composed of self-loathing and pity will soon fall.
The writing on the wall will still be red,
But only read by him.
Your constraints cannot hold him forever.
Your lies cannot mold him forever.
And when the day comes that he sees past your facade
And he begins to fight like the warriors of the Mossad,
The thought of you will dissapear.
And when the day comes that his breath has fled,
I will write another letter to his death bed