Ghouls

I've glimpsed you once and gazed through those eyes just ten thousand times.
I've felt your cheeks for a moment and their warmth lingers on my hand.
I've heard you sing a single word and your rhythm hangs in the air.
I've tasted your smoke for a single breath and I cough up sweet ash.

Why did you caress my hands?
Why couldn't you have kept me blind?
Why couldn't you buy my touch?
For you it would have been free.

I look to see myself in mirrors of broken glass.
I hold my hands to my face and cover eyes of grey.
I split my fingers wide and stare from my hueless void.
Why, oh why, can I not lie and tell you to go die?
Why do I hold you close when you won't put your hand in mine?

Die!
Die!
Die!
Why did you bring me past your shack?
Why did I think I could belong?

You were my reflection.
You could have been my right hand.
I could have been your left palm.
You could have written the postcards.
I could have carried the books.

I would have given you myself.
I wouldn't ask it in return.
I would have given my timid hand,
and taken yours with gentle care.
My palm slid down onto my side.
Were your fingers ever really there?

Why did you tell me your hands were strong?

Grate each finger like they're Gouda.
Stitch shut my lips with chicken wire.
Gouge out my eyes with kitchen tongs.
My stumps can't plug my ears.
I'm screaming to be blind.

I just want one thing.

"Is someone else a better me?"
"There will never be another you."
"Did I mean anything at all?"