Kneel

Her

I looked up at him with tears in my eyes

and spoke with all the bravery my shallow heart could summon.

You are more than an escape.

You are my sanctuary—

the place I enter knowing

the doors will lock behind me.

Inside these four walls

the world loses its teeth.

The noise dissolves into the steady sound of your breathing,

and every thought slips away

except the unbearable desire

to make time kneel for me

the way I so often kneel for you.

I want—desperately—

for time to slow

So much that I think of the devil

and the price he would name

for one more minute,

one more hour,

one more day.

What I would be willing to stain myself with.

Because in these quiet moments,

with your heavy breaths,

I would commit any evil

to stay a little longer.

With you.

With me.

And there lies the trouble.

I left a part of myself in you long ago.

And I love her—

the part I abandoned there.

I didn’t realize I was hiding my favorite pieces of myself

inside your body.

And now you have her.

Don’t you see the problem?

You’re not haunting me.

I’m haunting you.

The problem with me

is that beneath your weight

is the only place I am whole.

I tell myself that if I could strike a bargain—

if I ever found that devil—

I could pry that part of myself back from you,

reclaim what I left behind.

Maybe I could let you go

Maybe I could call off my ghost.

But I know the truth.

She won’t agree to leave.

She loves the sound of your heavy breathing in my ear,

the quiet between seconds.

She loves the way time bends

when she kneels.

She loves submission more than freedom,

the chain around her neck

holding her to you like a pet.

I thought I hid her in you for safekeeping.

I didn’t realize she chose you.

So, I’ll remain a chained ghost—

with your hand on the lead,

quietly on my knees.

Gaze

He didn’t flinch when I spoke.

Didn’t look surprised.

Didn’t look afraid.

He only smiled—slow, knowing—

like someone who had been waiting

for a truth

to finish arriving.

You keep talking about the devil,

he said softly,

as if you haven’t already found him.

You ask what bargain you’d have to strike,

what you’d have to give,

what part of yourself you’d have to surrender

for another minute,

another hour,

another day.

You never noticed—

you already paid.

You left her with me.

You knelt without being asked.

You stayed without being promised forever.

You called it sanctuary,

as if that made it holy.

But listen to me—

Devils don’t steal.

We wait

in the stillness you crave.

And when you placed

the brightest parts of yourself

into my hands—

when you chose to kneel,

when you decided this quiet

was worth the cost—

that was the bargain.

You say you’re haunting me.

But ghosts only linger

where they are wanted.

And we both know

how I want.

You don’t need to call her back.

She wouldn’t come.

She knows what she chose.

She knows who keeps her.

You think I am the price.

You think I am the problem.

But I am only the one

who let you stay

exactly as you are—

devoted,

unafraid,

listening to my breathing

like it’s somehow your own.

If you walk away,

you won’t escape me.

I left myself in you as well—

made my home there.

You’ll only learn this truth too late:

you were never bargaining with the devil,

he said,

gently closing his hand around my neck.

You were kneeling before him.

And I never asked you to stop.