See beneath her smiling eyes the lies she sighs to cry herself to sleep. It’s a sickness, mental illness, and she’d probably be safer in a padded room far away from anyone who could love her, unreachable by those she could hurt. Her kiss is venomous and her touch of leprosy will send one spiraling into the abyss of no return.
Remember when we use to sit and stare at the moon and I’d swoon at your voice, like velvet or milk chocolate, dissolving, melting into you because with you so near there was no world beyond our fingertips and touching lips.
She sits rocking back and forth (back and forth) back and forth as though the rhythm holds her pieces together. If only you could see the web she’s weaving inside her brain to try and stay sane even though her own thoughts are ripping at the seams, pulling her apart stitch by heartbroken stitch but she sits on the floor rocking back and forth (back and forth) back and forth as through the rhythm holds her pieces together.
It was a fairytale of ancient books, scribbled in a forgotten language that only you and I could read. Girl meets boy, boy loves girl, girl bleeds and boy sees and their two haves become whole.
But little did she know that he was wrapping himself within her heart and when he’d at last depart…
…she’d simply fall apart.
As I lie in bed, still warm from your touch, I stare at the ceiling replaying the scenes between us. Your tongue caressing every inch of my flesh as I pull at your hair, moaning with eagerness. The bed has grown cold but I can still feel your breath on my neck, your lips against mine as you thrust deep inside. I dissolve into you, every moment that you’re near, absorbing every sensation so you’ll always stay here within my heart, under my skin, tickling at my brain. I curl into myself, pulling my knees to my chin and inhale your scent that has lingered. I imagine that your arms are around me still, our heartbeats aligning, our breath rhythmically syncing.
I wish you could stay so I could awake to your face, but you’ve gone home to your bed where she awaits.
And I wonder if I’ll ever be the one rather than the other woman whom you leave behind with the setting sun.
I scribble and etch these words on the wall, teetering on this ladder, one wobble from falling. But what would it matter in the end if I can’t release this colors that dance within my head. I can’t capture the coral of this passion that’s brewing. I can’t write of the teal that’s peeling my skin away from my skull and for nothing at all - it’s all pain, no escape.
Let me write. Let it out. As I scream and I shout I can’t make sense of it all. And when I write on these walls it’s cluttered and strewn from corner to corner with no order to behold. No form to slip in to. No frame to break free from.
Remember when I could write the thoughts of others and steal their breath along with them? Render them speechless and awed. They’d pause and wonder what witchcraft I held in the palm of my hands to make this pen dance so gracefully before them.
And now I can feel the rats scratching on my left hemisphere as I paint over the words I’ve written yet again. I run against the padded walls hoping to fall into a deep sleep that will last for weeks and maybe I’ll wake up with something to write about. But it didn’t happen last time…
The written word evades me as the colors of myself fade to grey then blink away.
I am nothing.
Nothing but a book filled with eraser-marked pages.
I’m in town. Would you like to grab a drink?
The words echoed in my mind as I sat at the hotel bar awaiting her arrival. I only had one objective: maintain control, but images of taught skin and parted lips kept flashing in my vision and I had to breathe deeply, repeating again and again ‘maintain control.’
Suddenly the clicking of stilettos approached the bar. I didn’t turn to see her, knowing I’d instantly jump out of my skin and into hers after lusting for her flesh for so long. My heart began racing, blood rushing south and I had to breathe deeply, repeating again and again ‘maintain control.’
My peripheral vision focused on her form, perfect breasts restrained in a tight red dress pressed against the bar. She crossed one bare leg behind the other, pushing her supple ass out as her back arched. Her lips parted slightly as she smiled at the bartender but the room faded away as I imaged those lips exploring, kissing, sucking, moaning and I had to breathe deeply, repeating again and again ‘maintain control.’
“Well, hello.” Her fragrance was sugar and honey. “Fancy meeting you here.” Her voice was lust and passion. She bent down, kissing my cheek lightly, pressing her breasts against my chest, one hand resting just below my waist. She made small talk, though I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I must have been responding, because she laughed and smiled and sipped her drink, but I had to breathe deeply, repeating again and again ‘maintain control.’
Several drinks down and several hours past, she leans into me again, placing her hand on my thigh, close enough to know what I’d been thinking but far enough to only make my yearning stronger. “I’m glad we did this,” sugar and honey brushing my face as she kissed my cheek again. She pulled back slightly, biting her lip as she ran her fingers through my stubble. I breathed deeply, but the hope for control was gone.
“I’ll walk you up to your room.”
The elevator doors had only just closed, when I turned my eyes on her, leaning against the railing, still biting her lip. I took a step toward her and hesitated. “Do it,” she breathed, one single exhale of wanting. She tasted just as sweet as she smelled.
There are words clawing and scratching at my skull screaming of all the things I can never say aloud. Once I speak it, once I say it, once the air has time to carry it far away from my mouth, then the word will be out and I cannot stop the hurricane it will create, swirling with the wind - my fiery words, my icy heart - a storm that will destroy me.
It’s not that I don’t love you, no. I’m sure I do, I must.
But when I look into your eyes that puhrump is gone, my heart’s song silenced and we just sit in a quiet that I cannot wait to escape. And I tremble on how we once blamed fate for bringing us together, when perhaps it may have been desperation instead. So lonely and cold were the nights before you and now I find I cannot breathe with you so close.
Now, I’m not so sure, not so sure what I’m feeling, staring at the ceiling trying to piece the pieces together. But nothing fits anymore, I’m lost.
And I’m no longer sure if I fell in love with you or the idea of us.