Banksoya Sauce Poems

I will never know your body.
I will never feel it pressed onto mine:
For desperation, for love, for comfort.
...

Oh, to rot at your touch,
To lay next to your motionless body,
To wait for my skin to morph into yours;
Growing colder, second by second.
...

The freshness of my skin,
The ripeness of my age,
The taste of tar on my lips.
...

How unbearable is it truly
To be the witness of someone's rotting?
To see the weeds entangle their feet?
To see them tying the knot of destiny?
...

Meeting his gaze, a familiar fog occurs:
Blocking my sight, closing my throat.
This comforting blindless
Now is merely a passing moment.
...

Help me to breathe.
Make every inch of my lungs fill with sweet air
Until my chest expands beyond repair,
Until I crave the suffocation.
...

Waiting for the night to come
With anxiously shaking hands,
Will my eyes feel the bliss of dark tonight?
Or will it simply be the pain of mindfulness?
...

Lacking essential senses,
Does it truly make one's life worse?
Or is it protection from the faults of life?
The abstinence of slumber,
...

Still crawling behind your shadow,
Following the white lines that lead to you:
Maybe they're simply too big for me,
But is it so wrong to be hopeful?
...

Everyone is an empty canvas.
My mind tells me:
'They aren't really present',
'Their mouths don't feel'.
...