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last night i was at a desert, not a stream. i didn't watch you wash your face with your grimy hands and think, your hands. your face. your eyes. i didn't see you crouching as if you could ever be anything other than a cosmic force, a whirlwind to be reckoned with.
i knew i was at a desert although i couldn't really see, the heat scattered around my skin like your grace and your touch. i felt my heart cave in. when we were at the stream and i didn't think, you're a sight to behold. i thought purgatory is pure, i don't elaborate and everyone thinks it's rush of killing, after all, to everyone else, am i not just a killer?
the desert wind, the heat and lightening at my feet. i whispered your name when i woke up. i knew it had to be you. purgatory is pure, i'd said and not, purgatory is purer because you're here. you're here, my mind echoes. you're here. you're here. i don't say, please, won't you stay? i've dreamt of you even when you didn't waltz into them, so when i see your face at the window and it flashes blue, i think- you're here with a controlled panic. i'm not surprised because you come like a recurring dream. flash of blue, desert heat, howling winds and a screaming touch.
purgatory was pure and your grace thrums in my veins. heal me. wreck me, please— heal me.
my hands move out of my accord, your hands stay by your side. i step in and you stand. i step away, it's of no difference. i say, buddy, i need you. controlled ease. i don't say, i love you because my love is not mine to give and it's not pure enough for you to take. so, i say the one thing that i would never admit, needing anyone— needing you.
i never prayed to god except for once, not for myself. i'm not sure god exists on good days and on worse days, i'm praying that he doesn't because god knows what i'll do with this anger if i ever saw— but i pray to you, pray for you. my prayers remain unanswered but you're a kinder deity. you keep me safe without answering my prayers.
i say, i'm fine. i am.
but you know me. it's all about the unsaid things and the desert wind, the blue lightening and handprint. it's about purgatory and getting to pray, without an audience of angels or the answering call of an apocalypse, it's getting about getting to you and only you.
i say purgatory was pure, come back— my drink doesn't die and neither will i. so, just come back.