Dating Death’s Middleman

Has a tendency to kill

By

It was just a simple trade at the start — partners in crime: I watch your back, and you watch mine.

But it turns out my gradual loss of life is a side effect of being near you, and one you will never slow to notice.

You boast of the stability you’ve gained by being with me.
You say I’ve sedated your wild side, made you better, made you whole.

But what of me? I can already feel my fade.

How bittersweet — to have what I want while it asphyxiates me.
How strangely erotic — to submit my body to the control of the middleman of death, especially now, knowing how all this time, you’ve answered to the same name as he.

But I’m barely breathing, and you’re no longer noticing me

It was just a simple agreement: your hand in mine, and mine in yours.
For you, it’s just what you do: “love,” territory, testosterone.

But me? Well, I feel sick

How cramped — when your hand is a cell and I, its prisoner.
How fucked — to be harmed by the arms that “protect” you.
How sickening — that you haven’t even noticed l’ve stopped breathing.