#steebucks

you are a serpent parading as a white knight and i am the maiden who knows better and falls anyway you are the master to my puppet strings but you don’t feel like a master and these don’t feel like strings is this what love is in the wake of devastation?

ACT II

this love was just beginning to bloom  this love still lives in the aftermath of your destruction i don’t want it to, yet it survives; an aching, somber thing in my chest it must be real. nothing else carves a soul hollow like love.

but it is not as heavy as my rage, an unsettled storm, the ocean before a flood you once said we were similar, you and i you may grow to regret that comparison. you will. i will make sure of it.

tell me a story in which the rain rises from the hungry earth to fall upwards back into the sky / tell me a story in which the prodigal daughter finds her way home again after her throat stitches itself shut. the split in my lip continues to bleed. it has always bled. / the sadness comes in waves & somehow two days have passed while a saltwater tear turns the minutes stiff.

dear god         deaf god—                 i know we’re far                 from holy already

i know what you did and why you did it-- the string was the culprit in this story, too much like chains; a connection turned sour, it left a bad taste in your mouth 

and lo, the scissors and lo, freedom-- two silver nickels in hand  and a taste for revenge. 

it will always be about this bone deep hurt, i know that’s what sells but both you and i know the truth.

that’s not what this story is about  at all.

Bucky: Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?

Steve: Yeah, and I threw up?

Bucky: This isn't payback, is it?

a different kind of battlefield, my love