Ghastly

I want to embed myself under the furled layers of your essence, tuck myself beside the pulsating beat of your vulnerability. I want to drink you in, sip your secrets like shots of soul-warming alcohol. Intoxicate me with your purity, render me unconscious with your superiority and smother me with your suffocating beauty. Tease me with the palpable touch of your absence and speak to me in words so powerful their meaning can’t be truly fathomed. I miss the quintessence of your endless nihility.
Like a beautiful, burning inferno I want you to burst into vibrancy, your hot, explosive atmosphere lighting up the room in your scintillating brilliancy. I want to feel your heat immersing those around you, drowning them in your presence and surrounding them with the inaudible murmurings of your ruination.
Walk on me, step on me with the grace of all the dancing phantoms you have imbibed through your skin. Smear me into the mud, rake me against the ground and chisel me into a shapeless sculpture of dullness and dust. I want to be the logs you consume, the sustenance you ingest to ignite the vitality that vibrates in your veins. I want to be the unsung hero who allows you to be this flame, deplete me of my energy and ambiance and relinquish me to a pile of smoldering cinders and glowing coals.

Carve a map of your vacancy into my flesh fabricated and cultivated from the stars and sun blotted out by your breath. The iridescent glow that quivers in the sky oscillates only for you, congruous with the silent palpitations buzzing beneath my chest.
I’m choking on your nonexistence, my throat wrapped around your occupancy as tangible as dreams. In the back of my mind hums all the dreams I’ve dreamt of you, but you told me broken promises slice not stifle
Your music has no lyrics, because ghosts can’t speak. And it doesn’t have a tempo, because phantoms don’t have heartbeats.