SyndRome

Skinless again, just flaws.
Rome inside me - a fallen empire.
Again in the hands of the one who gnaws,
Burning me from within like a pyre.

Crying again in the dark
My soul - a torn train of a dress.
Dawn on my cheeks - his kiss’s mark,
My ever-burning stress.

Feel like a disgraced demirep.
You reappear - my sudden deity.
The air thickens into orange syrup,
Breaking through stone and concrete
Like devouring impiety.

In his fingers - ancient ash, a dust of memoria.
He smells of espresso, tobacco, and glory.
In his voice - street cries, cicadas, my euphoria.
He whispers, “You’re insane.”
I say, “I’m the one and only.”

He’s not toxic.
He is the temple of my lust and grief.
I am his high priestess - breathless, hypoxic,
Vestal flame, the first-born Eve.

I inhale him like a vital sip of prosecco.
Each morning with him — a sinful confession.
Each goodbye leaves a haunting echo.
And even if I burn,
I’ll burn in obsession.