Your Touch Destroys Me
O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
I dreamed of you again last night and it's like dying every time. When I'm awake, I can pretend that I don't see you, what you feel for me. I can make believe that I'm not tempted by your presence, by that look in your eyes that tells me that you're going get real sick of waiting real soon. I don't even see you when the sun shines, so I can pretend that this isn't happening, that you don't even exist. You're rotting in the ground when the sun shines; I can get on with my life.
But when the sun goes down, you're everywhere. I can feel you in the night, feel your presence. I look for you around every corner, not that you've ever known that. Not that I would ever let you know that. It's better this way, I tell myself, but I know in my heart that I just enjoy the chase. I knew how you felt before you told me, I knew how you felt before anyone told me. I knew because I'd been dreaming of you, and I knew I couldn't be dreaming alone.
Each dream is like the first dream. You're standing above me, and you're cold, so cold, and it feels right. Ever since my angel, I've craved that cold touch. Is it wrong that feeling another human's flesh and warmth against my own leaves me empty, leaves me thinking that there should be more? No, I want that touch of cold hands, the touch of the grave. Sleeping, I watch your pure white hands rough against my body and even dreaming, I know I'm not quiet. Your black painted nails catch the dark in them; I can see them and then they're gone and I know how deep I want you to touch me. You say you love me, you even act like it sometimes, or at least act like you have a human love, but in the shadowy realm of my dreams, you love me like a demon and your face is cold and empty. The only place the truth shows is in your eyes and they blaze like the sun. I keep expecting that light to destroy you and then I remember that this isn't really happening. It only feels like my life, it only feels like my addiction. I scream for you, I cry for you, I beg and your face never changes. Your lips are curled in this predatory smirk, and why not? Isn't that what we both are, predators? Why shouldn't you look hungry and flushed with victory when you have me? You've been wanting me long enough.
It's contagious, that kind of need. The first time I dreamed, I woke up screaming. I had to run to the shower, desperate to get the feel of you off my body. I didn't want anyone to know where I'd been in my mind. But then I saw you looking at me, and it was the same look you gave me in the dream and I knew, I knew. The knowledge of it sent a thrill down my body, made my every muscle tense. Just feeling your eyes on me made my bones ache with the need for you. I don't know if you know what it's like to be wanted like you want me. When you watch me, the air is silver and cold, and the sullen smolder in your eyes is like sex. I freeze when you look at me, I burn and I can't help it, so I hide my reaction and we fight and you go. Dawn sees you more than I do, but it's easier for her. She's never incinerated when she looks at you; the earth never burns for her when she watches your blue eyes. To her, you're just a crush. To me, you are my best enemy and my darkest secret.
When I kissed you, I could feel it in places I had forgotten I had. I wanted to crawl over your body, wanted you hard enough against me to leave bruises. I wanted you to touch me so that I could still see it the next day. I wanted to run my fingers over the marks I knew you would leave and want you all over again. I wanted the pain I knew you would give me. So instead, I walked away. I left you standing there in your crypt hurting, but it was the right choice, the only choice. I know it was hard for you, I know you didn't understand, but if I let myself start, I know how it will end. It will end like the dreams.
I dreamed of you again, and it's always our first time, always our only time. Trees don't have anything on your strength, on your hardness. I feel soft next to you, around you, and I'm never soft. With you it's good, it's right. At the last moment, your face is a human one, and you're as happy as I am. Demons aren't like men, I know that, but it's not a human love I want. I want you black and victorious, I want you as a hunter. I need to be weak with you, overwhelmed by you, destroyed by you.
I know that you'll leave. Like in the dream, I know that you'll have no choice. They'll be nothing left but for you to go. I know you love in spite of yourself, recognize that I make you as helpless as you make me, so I understand why you'll run. It won't hurt by then, because there will be nothing left of me to hurt. You'll be the only one in pain.
They always end the same, the dreams do. You run and I'm left behind. But I wake up and I still want you. I wake up and I thirst for you anyway, empty without your touch. Some nights it's all I can do not to run for you. But I stay in my bed and touch myself, because I can't forget how the dreams end. The ending never changes, and that's enough for me to think there's a hint of prophecy in them, a touch of the future. So I open the window and let the night run its fingers over me, while I wish it were you, but I'll never go. I stay safe in my room, because wanting you can never be as dangerous as having you. My demon, my immortal lover, my death.
If my dreams are right, we are too much for each other. Your love will kill me. In each dream, it's my empty body you leave behind, my open eyes you run from. But I don't see you, because I'm already gone. I know your love will destroy me, so let myself itch and ache when you look at me, but I will never let you touch.
I dreamed of you again, and it was like dying and I wanted to die. I know one day you'll come for that last dance, and I won't be strong enough to say no and that will be the end for the both of us. Until then, I'll refuse you to your face and dream of the death you'll give me.
I'm waiting, Spike. I'm waiting for you to be strong enough, or me to weak enough. Love is death for both of us.