Perhaps I am still crawling along your spine, your synapses picking up on me after you’ve fallen asleep.
Perhaps you think of me in waking hours, though I have no idea of whether you think of me fondly or think of possible ways that I might die.
Perhaps you remember the lovely moments, when we held hands and gazed adoringly into one another’s eyes, our irises sparkling with the prospect of eternal love. Every night spent tangled in each other’s arms, a possibility of an everlasting life together.
What we should have considered it was what it ultimately was: a temporary beauty, set to wither away before we even had an idea of what was happening.
The simple truth? We were in love, and then we weren’t.
Ah, but that’s not quite it, is it, my dear?
As though I could fall out of love with you so soon. I may have initiated the sorrow, but it was only a gesture. Ultimately regretted.
One day, we were in love, we were in it for life.
Then the next, my life stopped. I cannot speak for you.
All I know is that ever since, my breathing has been forced, my wakefulness not guaranteed, and my smile faked.
Like A Black Widow, I’ll Be Crawling May 4, 2010
Filthy May 4, 2010
Filthy, dingy, disgusting and morbid.
That’s me. A hand where it shouldn’t, smothering your out.
A finger where it is seldom welcome, sliding in, bringing back out what is never welcome.
I shake my head back and forth, platinum hair flying, naked body lording it over you.
For once, I am stronger than you.
Awful, wrong, forbidden, horrifying and cute.
That’s us. Tongues intertwined, limbs flung all over the place.
I found out about the most intimate crevices of humanity, and what it takes to make a grown man cry.
I put my hands back in my pockets, and tucked away another memory of a time when I wasn’t me, and you were barely you. And it felt right, nice, safe. All the positives in a negative. All the negatives in a positive. All of our positives and negatives blurred into one and the same for me. I never blushed.
Instead, I spread myself thick, not hiding a thing, opening myself to you, blinking only honesty, breathing only invitation. My rigid torso told you volumes, my pale skin told you definitions, my blinding teeth bit into sweet flesh, and the only letters needed were “o” and “k”.
For a time, dark and twisted, we were just one single motion, two translucent, tattooed souls making the same sound. For a time, we spoke in sign, or we said nothing at all, and it was fine, too.
Then, like a shotgun blast, everything was turned around and destroyed. All the ugliness we made into an aria, all the dirt we made into Degas paintings, all the vulgarity made into Shakespearean sonnets, vanished before my eyes, like the sordidness morphed into beauty never existed, never mattered. Like the best of intentions slipped away, and I was left alone, trying to remember how to smile again.
And I still haven’t figured it out. A smile is not a smile unless you’re there to make a face filled with pain transform into a face filled with ecstasy. A soul doesn’t exist unless you’re there to fold it into your arms. I am not me unless you’re here to see my eyes light up when you walk into the room. Desire doesn’t exist in the world unless you exist in mine. The dream-world is nothing without the physical world, and I can’t live vicariously anymore.
Until you come back, I am as good as dead.
