You Were A Treehouse
You were a spleen and I engorged you. You were a space and I enclosed you. You were a cave and I dusted off my flashlight. You were a wheel and I stuck my head between your spokes. You were a hot air balloon and I built a giant catapult. You were a shepherd and I gave all your sheep dreadlocks. You were a turtle and I flipped you soft-side up, watched your legs churn slow figure eights in the air. You were a bear and I repeatedly woke you from hibernation. You were a treehouse and I filled your rooms with woodpeckers. You were a maze and I entered you without an end in mind, so you became nothing more than a very long corridor. You were a clock and I carried you across time zones, so you would always be telling a lie. You were acute and I was right. You were a grenade and I tucked you into my chest, so you became a safeguard. You were a thermos and I filled you with poison, so you became a weapon. You were a nurse and I shot myself once in each thigh. You were carrion and I pushed my snout into your innards. You were a salt mine and I flooded you, lapped your walls thin as I grew concentrated with brine. You were my tongue and I bit you. You were a sunbeam and I became a prism, split your glow into agonizing color. You were an echo and I was an echo, both of us fumbling over each other to be heard. You were a sheeted ghost and I pushed my fingers into your eye holes, hoping to find some warmth. You were a noose and I hung a piñata. You were an ant and I infiltrated your colony, ripped apart and took the place of your queen. You were a whale and I mangled your song, so you could never find a mate. You were granite within which I was a fissure, and I thrust through your density until you became two distinct forms and I had snaked myself out of existence. You were a fissure around which I was granite, and I willed myself compact. You were a prophecy, and I was a skeptic. You were a secret and I left you alone in the grave. You were a casket and I buried you beneath the abandoned house where you were a staircase and I was a one-way sign. You were a swing and I gripped tightly to your chains, sent us hurtling together towards the sun. You were a vaccine and I plunged you into my body, over and over and over, until I was riddled with disease and you were no longer a cure.