You told me about the unknown dead ends.

All the broken promises, shattered dreams, and the days that went down to up and the nights when the pills weren’t enough. Then the ashes. The remains of the wings you once set on fire. The relics of your efforts that, once, betrayed.

I wish I could understand you sooner.

Then you told me about the tattoos. The needles and the parlours you took shelter in when the sky began to bleach red. Cigarettes and alcohol. Tables and gambles.

All those coping mechanisms, and you found later that your music patched you best.

See, time will tell.

You tossed your shirt off. You showed me all of your tattoos and I could see a sliver of silver in your scars. I ran my fingers over the inking on your right shoulder – the one you love the most.

Be there.

Be down.

Be you.

Be there.

We lie in the heat of turbulent emotions, listening to the faint rhythm of the universe under the faint light of the moon. Beads of sweat glistened on your forehead to the nook of your neck. I wanted to kiss them dry but the edge of summer breeze had beaten me to it.

Be down.

Hours had gone by and you fell asleep without the pills. My eyes rested on your face. You seemed at bliss. I wish there were more nights like this one.

I studied your anatomy – from your firm torso down to your limbs, the contour of your chiselled stomach. An art.

Be you.

Your fingers were stained yellow. The smell of nicotine filled the space between us but my head burst in hues of lilac and camellia. An ocean full of raging storms. A serene still water. A field filled with daisies, sunshine and glistening hope.

Beauty clings at your wounds like a magic spell, and my world stops for you.