One day she drunkenly muttered something, and what I thought I heard wasn't pungent, but lovely. And as I felt the blood rushing from my head to my gut I began to wonder; I couldn't muster up the sustenance to utter a comeback, so...
After a second or two of ruminating I negated the ache to move my lips and instead slid to where she was grinning, where she was pinning herself flat against my mattress, placing her chin on a grey pillow, eyes wider than they should have been and pupils kind of dilated, basically aching for a scintillating bit of conversation, praying not to die from the quiet. But I wasn't trying to make it so easy for her, and by the time she opened her mouth to make her case and chase it with an explanation -- maybe even denial -- I was laying adjacent, waist scathing the opaque window; by now I'm sure her mind was running wild...
The verdict was poignant and simple; I moved her shirt a bit and my pointer finger swiftly traced a few straight lines on her lower back in 90 degree angles spelling two letters for her tactile sense to decipher. And after I incited the third, which was a circle, I think she sensed the rest of my message, because right then she began to smile excitedly...
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Friday, July 11, 2014
a dance with the devil
A few verses of hurtful curses were blurted out first...
I was a little intimidated by the abrasions I watched being laid across her face. Blatant memories of tears raining on her makeup made me wonder if they ever made up... And that shit still shakes me to the core, now even more than before. Where are they? What the fuck happened that day? Did they ever move past it? I remember she grabbed all of her kids and waited hazardously on the porch; she waited for him to collect himself and order her back inside. I think that was the first day that I died.
A weathered leather belt tethered to the end of a limp limb begins to accrue momentum...
I'd like for the lights to dim but I lack the capacity to black it out naturally. I'd love to back out and backtrack through a back route but I'm afraid the breadcrumbs that were scattered about a half mile back were devoured; I'm stuck on this path. And I hate that the only way I can escape this place is by wandering through a bottle of Jack and occasionally wading til I scrape the base and chase it with a couple bumps of --
A few lashes graze shoulder blades and made braided chasms latch on to my lower back...
I'm not a masochist, but I'll have you know that I'm no longer master of my own domain. And whiskey and coke tend to help me choke down the vivid images that are killing my brain. So basically, if you feel so compelled, you can label me self-destructive or even insane, but just know that I'm already dead and floating through this hell coldly as both an old soul and a new slave...
I was a little intimidated by the abrasions I watched being laid across her face. Blatant memories of tears raining on her makeup made me wonder if they ever made up... And that shit still shakes me to the core, now even more than before. Where are they? What the fuck happened that day? Did they ever move past it? I remember she grabbed all of her kids and waited hazardously on the porch; she waited for him to collect himself and order her back inside. I think that was the first day that I died.
A weathered leather belt tethered to the end of a limp limb begins to accrue momentum...
I'd like for the lights to dim but I lack the capacity to black it out naturally. I'd love to back out and backtrack through a back route but I'm afraid the breadcrumbs that were scattered about a half mile back were devoured; I'm stuck on this path. And I hate that the only way I can escape this place is by wandering through a bottle of Jack and occasionally wading til I scrape the base and chase it with a couple bumps of --
A few lashes graze shoulder blades and made braided chasms latch on to my lower back...
I'm not a masochist, but I'll have you know that I'm no longer master of my own domain. And whiskey and coke tend to help me choke down the vivid images that are killing my brain. So basically, if you feel so compelled, you can label me self-destructive or even insane, but just know that I'm already dead and floating through this hell coldly as both an old soul and a new slave...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)