Erobus

07.02.2020

My chaos gets strangely euphoric when
An E string starts to squeak. When she steps on
Dead leaves, she looks like an itch in her brain
Was relieved,
I don't ask many questions.
I just let her weigh me down like
An avid lover, stroke my hair as
I lay to sleep on her lap before she
Leaves at dawn, sometimes I think she's
An apparition.
My chaos gets a Tattoo on 

Her every birthday, parades naked in front of
The mirror like a Fitzgerald poem, her body
Full of scars left by strangers.
She thinks Capricorns are obtuse.
My chaos is unsullied, she hates the color black, says it is 

A glutton

She tries to be kind, never drops 

Her mirth while snearing, sometimes I feel
Like she's a manipulative psychopath, she
Reminds me of Sylvia Plath, her words all over the
Place when she's off, but they burn like poisoned
Needles when they hit home, and
I let a lot of dark innuendos slide because she allows
Me to hide from my troubles in human forms, see, 

I'm scared of these the most.
She is as enticing as the ocean, when she's
Not cross
Her airs are baby blue most of the time, and she suffocates
People by containing
Them, she hums while
She cooks my excuses.
My chaos thinks Dostoyevskian
Characters were based on her exes.
She doesn't like
Crowds, shrinks to the quietest
Corners when someone flicks on
The switch without a warning, she grunts when strangers 

Confess to past sins on the subway.
Wakes me up on restless nights, I hate it
When it's her time to speak and she
Never does.
My chaos smiles when she glances at
Someone else's Chaos
Like a child from the window of a passing
Car. She sat next to yours in grade school, love,
You just don't remember her because she
Was plain and kept to her day dreams, she remembers your
Dirty shoes, the dusty hairs on your neck
Your chaos, mi amor, grew to be a plunge pool
Vortices and doom and weird fishes,
A burying place for the drowning wishes,
Funny how folks curtain their darkness, while
You wear it over your skin, like a rain coat,

As you converse with your spiraling
Thoughts, bastard children of experiences past.

Your chaos stands out like a grave
In the meadow, it's drenched in Vantablack,

Swallowing colors and those born with a soft

Nature
Your chaos is hardened solid by the grimaces of pain

It gets conspicuously annoyed when it rains
It thinks Bukowski's characters were
Its past births, and it can't keep a lover longer than

A season
It thinks my chaos looks horrid without make up.
Follows it around with its eyes,
Your chaos has lewd thoughts, keeps its hands

Secured in its pockets so it wouldn't do harm

Says its shade of black stains worse than the rest.
Your chaos thinks everything is its fault,
Whispers in your ear, sometimes even I can hear,

That you have a habit of destroying people by

Loving them too
Hard. 

Except that you don't, you don't
Love anybody, not even you.
Your chaos bullies you into hiding
Within
It dips your cigarettes in honey and pats
You in the back, when you swallow
The right answer.
Your chaos is a great dancer, but thinks showing off
Is for small egos. It taught you how to trap
Women by listening to what makes them

Go quiet
It pierces my soul
To know that I can't fix you by
Loving you, even she shivers in guilt
That it thought it was the most
Chaotic of all, the wildest summer storm  

That ever brewed

In the west
And yet she nervously whispers in my ears,

 

Child, I wouldn't.