strike me like a match and whisper your prayers
let me be yours and love you to the moon and back
what an obvious thorn on a throne
but i like how it pricks and scars
because it’s something of you left behind
the medicine to my shaking hands
to my trembling heart
let your serum fill my veins
confiscate my common sense
as i wash ashore, the island of you and i
you own my life and don’t mind
take everything and all
as long as you embrace me within your warmth
defeat is not an option but my prerequisite
compared to the measure of your kingdom
and i get drunk in your shelter
inhale your spent air
don’t let me suffocate and crumble
let me crawl to be near you, my friend
let me be the trash you tossed aside
because once you held me in your hand
you are my compulsory drug

© simon whittle — from lovers’ tiff: a ballad