Will-o’-the-wisp

I can feel your breath point blank to my neck, your claws kissing my skin with eroticism, crawling beneath my spine, growing, you're like an angel who lost his wings, and now, i see you waiting, to take my breath away, to take my last feathers to hell with you.

Maybe not today, maybe tomorrow, those voices will flood my head, and that flow will stand still, like a newborning wildfire in the marshes of the psyche. Bite me off already.

I'm standing still, skin of steel melting with the sadness of the past and the dance of that coin i flipped, falling, it's all present time, now... keeps falling. 

When the gold kiss the mud, i'm who i need to be again, the lost words come back again, the tongues speak my language again.