Realms Can Choke On It

you were the druid.

but not the healer.

the kind that watches the deer die and says

“good. now something else can eat.”

-

and I—

I was the rogue because

I never asked permission

to want you.

-

we met where the music was too loud

and your mouth was too honest.

I tasted gin on your lip balm

and decided to ruin everything.

-

you smelled like smoke and unopened books.

you said “I don’t play fair,”

and I said “I don’t play safe.”

-

so we spun.

and the spin never stopped.

sometimes we dance.

sometimes we fall.

sometimes we drag the whole bloody world down with us.

-

but you—

you always return to form.

twisting. growing.

somehow still green

even after the gods piss ash on everything.

-

and me—

I always vanish when it gets too soft.

except with you.

you keep finding me.

in back alleys of myself

even I’ve condemned.

-

when we game,

you play the druid.

I the rogue.

but what we’re really doing is

writing the gospel of

“fuck your canon.”

-

we don’t want resurrection.

we want consequence.

we want scars that mean something.

we want love that tastes like metal

and swears back.

-

this isn’t a marriage.

it’s a side quest we never turned in.

a wound that learned how to hold hands.

a punchline no one else gets.

-

we’ve died together.

not literally.

worse.

emotionally. sexually.

logistically. spiritually.

-

and still.

you crawl back into my ribs

like you paid rent.

and I let you.

-

because love isn’t soft.

it’s known.

it’s shared language in a world full of noise.

it’s shorthand for survival.

-

you are the only character

I’d die beside

and not ask for a reroll.

-

so if they wipe us—

delete the save

erase the logs

nerf our stats—

-

I will still know

the sound you make when you come

and the way you look

when you cast entangle with your hips

and the exact number of seconds

you hesitate before forgiveness.

-

that’s ours.

the Realms can choke on it.

.