me, you, us

Fear grabbed my tongue
and said Leave when I meant Stay.
The psychological battle
between who I was,
who I am, and who I want to be
is a riveting spectacle,
and most can’t look away.
I perform pirouettes
at the edge of a building during a storm,
laughing at jokes
only I understand.
I am the hueless shell
of something sucked dry;
I am bloodless and thin-skinned.
I am a pity.
And you left because you heard,
like rain on the roof of a parked car,
the drumming of an oncoming flood.
You, with your self-preservation instincts;
me, with a broken lust that beckons
with crooked fingers.
Us, something off with the rhythm.
Us, as we existed in my mind before
I broke the silence.
Crouching, now, is the only way
I can face you,
this deference my way of protection
from the absolute power you hold
to destroy me.
There is no respect here.
What marauded for years as desire
I now understand
was merely an attempt to stay dry.