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The first time you see him he is king. Tall, handsome, shining golden hair. He blinds you with his confidence. Then he looks at you, right there, where it matters. His touch like fire and ice, burning and soothing you. Lighting that spark. No, that fire.
The next time you see him there is delight in his eyes. Stripping you bare, feasting his eyes like the king he is. Greedy man. But you're as hungry as him but not for the same because your dead eyes come alive when he touches you. And then he leaves you, used.
Then there are times after that. Keep going, feel alive, he whispers. So you do, till you've gone too far. He has gone too far. You eat away at each other, going further and further till you're raw, with love? And that's when you both stop being hungry.
His wedding day is here. You're choking on your words. He suffocates you with that feeling, the one snatched away when you were innocent. You get his fire and it burns. Then his ice, your heart frays at the cold rejection.
Your king becomes blind. And his kingdom spirals out of control till someone comes crashing down. He makes a mistake. Because of you. Slugs of your sickness sit in your gut making you wretch while you clean his mess.
Now you need him. But he must, must, must protect his treasures and queen. Your mind fogs and your hands become clammy. Problems fester away, picking, teasing. You make it stop the only way you know how. Run.
That feels better. That white lighting pain striking your nerves. Your feet leak with sweat and blood. I'm alive again, you think. Then you let your past demons give you a good kick in, in all. Going down without a fight.
Sometimes he stares too long and your mother will scold for you. He tries to catch your attention. And there, he's got it. My fault, he screams. That's wrong, it's backwards, it's your fault. He's not mistaken so you punish him, hit him hard like the truth hit you.
When he said his dear wife cannot be enough, you think nothing will ever be enough for him. You are. And suddenly you're floating. Those three words, feels like he's mocking you. But he really means it, just like how he meant it was an accident.
God, then there's the domestic bliss he sets up. Wife's away, the husband must play. He stacks you in rows like dominos, just to push you and you fall. He looks so scared when you wake from the cold woods. He must love you.
This time you see him, he shouts. Rejects you. His verbal violence hits you where it hurts. He doesn't know that you're used to it by now, that rejection. He doesn't know that night you curl up, like crisp packet to flame with your pillow damp.
Here he comes, the king without his crown. Smelling like gasoline. Weird. What does he want now? An offer of London, Manchester, somewhere to start a fresh. You give him a choice, reveal all to the small minds of the village or live a lie. Of course he chooses the latter. And you let him.
You don't talk but you miss him. Your demons soon settle and you feel normality starting to cling onto you. It's nice for a while but normal is not you. You're thrown back into eachothers company and now it's a bonfire. You crave him like tobacco. So you take each other on the rickety desk.
Your on his high again. Cloud nine. Sharing secret smiles in front of his oblivious wife. Of course it has to come crashing down again in so many ways. He's lied again, kept secrets this one you cannot forgive or forget.
You make him think he's won. Lure him to a quiet space then hit full force with the god awful truth. He hits back too, and leaves you tied up with nothing but your thoughts. Alone. It never felt good on you.
He comes back eventually, tries to explain. His words just sting you, telling how your a mistake to fall in love with. You know this from past experience. It didn't end well for your last love. He feels the sting in your words and lashes out again.
When you're faced with your death you think of all your regrets and mistakes. And your biggest one right now is pointing a gun to your head. Maybe this is how to stop the demons once and for all so you accept it quickly. Tighten your eyes shut and picture a curly haired builder waiting for you.
Bang. You're not dead. Wrong person another mistake the king has made. You're angry. So you snatch that crown from his perfect head and burn his kingdom down to the ground. You tell all the sordid details to his beloved wife. All that he's worked for, gone.
The scorned wife has her turn burning something of his. Disaster strikes at her hands. You pity her. And he begs for her forgiveness, to take him back. You laugh at him. Such a fool.
Dust settles. Your first, biggest mistake you both made comes to harsh light. Now when you see him, he is small. The world is against him but you can't feel sympathy for that man. He tried to ruin you and your loved ones. Fuck him.
Somehow he wriggles his way out of a life sentence. Expects you to be grateful because he spared you from a judge and jury. You faced it before you could've done it again. You tell him what you think of him. Greedy, flaming, coward.
The last time you see him it's ripped away from you again just like the bullet that ripped through his chest. You trying to stop it but it keeps goings he's drowning you with his blood. The last words you said were spiteful, hateful. That's not how you feel. No. Your words should be those three he's been waiting for. I love you.