She is Life.
She is Light, laughter and promise.
I am Death.
I am Midnight, anguish and barrenness.
At the Core
Inside her bosom is a womb that nurtures a loving soul.
Surrounding, my ribcage is a prison that entombs a bitter void.
She is short of sin.
I am not quite criminal.
We are so different
We love one another tenderly, permanently.
We bicker, childishly, repeatedly.
Battles of accusations, blame. We wound with words that cut.
We suffer emotional injuries. We rub at them in self-pity. We condemn the transgression of the other. We hate one another.
Disbelief strikes us numb; the reality that we are capable of saying such evil words. We mourn in guilt, ashamed. We hate ourselves.
We lick each others’ wounds tenderly, as would wolves who mate for life.
We are so alike.