My dear Heathcliff

"My soul's bliss kills my body, but does not satisfy itself."

My dear Heathcliff, I could alphabetize your cruelties on my small little fingers.

For, when I should have been picking crumbled petals from beneath the barren ground of an age old tree, 

I was counting to ten, obsessively undoing the harms you unleashed on my body 

I've never been a saint, I wished that your life would come undone in a similar manner

For when I held your face and prayed, 

You let my self-abandon be.

For when I cocooned myself into your arms,

You let my self abandon be.

For when I tugged to your crocheted black tshirt, 

You let my self abandon be.

We were not searching for meaning,

we both know it

It died on us a long time back as refugees die under open skies

It was something primal 

I know you fain call yourself a romantic rebel 

As much as I call you a black swan, witnessing you under the drifting sunrays of a train window 

Obviously the shadows double down on me, darkening my appetite to just feel and not remember 

I can't fix accurately what your horror has been, but when Swift says "all that youth for free", I feel my heart bleeding 

It's true I have been your kindest lover 

For, my unkindness, would have killed you long before you killed yourself. 

P.S. This poem is inspired by the dialogue between Heathcliff & Nelly Dean from Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights, about Isabella. 

References: 

The dialogue

All that youth for free