I Don’t Want a Cure

 

You ask what tickles me,

not knowing you’re the tickle,

the tremor running wild beneath my skin.

Your voice,

a wildfire humming low and sweet.

Your questions,

not to find answers,

but to pry open cracks,

to slip like smoke in my asthmatic lungs.

You are my fevered rhythm,

my delirium with eyes like stormlit skies,

my cocaine brewed slow in coca tea.

I stroke your monsters like dark cats,

let them curl and purr upon my chest,

their truths vibrating in the silence

where no one else dares listen.

Your shadows don’t scare me,

they hold my reflection,

shards of the same wild glass.

I don’t see red flags,

I see mirrors cracked with honesty.

May I never grow numb to you,

that my heart still trembles

when your name dances in my mouth,

that nervous laughter still bursts free

when I think you aloud.

I cannot sink my teeth in your skin,

but I bite your soul,

deep and unrelenting

each time you let me dive beneath

your hidden tides,

where storms sing songs

only we can hear and savor.

Here, where no one else breathes,

rules dissolve like salt in the ocean’s breath,

judgment fractures into prisms of silence,

only skin, raw soul, and wild transparency.

I am the open sky,

the restless wind unbinding your gravity,

the freedom you’ve been chasing blind,

the echo of your own vanished chains.

Thank you for being here.

For daring to feel.

For shedding masks

in this timeless, witnessless corner.

Your vulnerability

a crown of fragile fire

I wear with honor.

I fall in love

with how we light up

places that used to be shadow.

How we laugh on the edge of the abyss,

swinging on the breath of the void.

Your silence understands me.

Your laughter disarms me.

Your unfiltered self seduces me.

I don’t want medicine.

I don’t want a cure.

I want your midnight messages,

hugs that shatter my fears,

eyes that steal logic from my bones.

And if one day I die from loving you too much,

let it be in your arms,

with your name carved into my breast,

a heart unraveled like wild silk,

a soul freed from every cage,

rising louder than storms that dare to claim,

vanishing only in the blaze of rebellion.

This is no illness to mend or flee,

it’s the wildfire I feed, the fire I choose,

the beautiful curse that holds me

and the only cure I’ll ever refuse.