I am assessing the size of your eyes, and the magnificence of each, the crevices of your earlobes, the shape of your nose, the way it gorgeously sits on your face, the curves of your lips, your beautifully-sculpted cheeks, the way your tongue dances in your mouth as you speak.
“Yes, I’m listening to you.”
Every part of you, every detail of you,
but I cannot hear a thing.
He looked like every other angel of birth, but he was an angel of death, He looked like every other angel of berth, but he was an angel of dearth. He would make you moan in pleasure so he could make you groan in pain. I had been warned by his ex-prey, and I was prepared to drive him insane. I sprinkled the blood of his victims on my door, and in my eyes, and in my ears, and on my lips, and on his head. “You can’t kill me like you did them. You have tried in vain, lame.” He passed right over me, and he never called me again.
And when we held each other, I felt like we had joined our hearts with our hands, like we had been dead all our lives, and because our palms touched, we had both come alive. We had, for the very first time, taken real breaths. We were both excited because we had finally found each other; we had both found sweet peace. I was afraid to release his hand, as though, if I did, I would drop dead again.
If you truly love a butterfly, you ought to let her fly. She’ll show you her buttery side if you do. If you open your palm wide enough, she’ll always perch in it if she wants you. Don’t break her wings off because your fears make you want to. If you squeeze her in, you would either weaken her or make her cry, or make her die, and at any chance she gets to be free, she’ll fly far away and never come back again.
I was licking my wounds but you stopped me. You wanted to do it so I let you. You licked and sucked till my wounds became scars. Then, you cut me again at the exact same spots.
So, here I am, a damn mess, studying our synastry chart for the 50th time, fiddling with tarot cards, tiredlessly hoping you’d come back. I want your tongue and yours alone, and I know that even if you return, you would lick me up so you can cut me again.
I don’t think Death takes all the lives that it has stolen around with it; He would have too much to carry. I’ll look for where He keeps them and return yours to you; we’ve got so much more to do. I’ll make sure you are not buried till I hurry back with you.
I’m shedding everyone’s tears but I can’t shed my own. I’ve got it all under control in public; I’m a mess when I’m alone. Pain has injected itself into me; I can feel it bite through each bone. I’m decaying on the inside, but this body is not mine to disown.
My heart and soul are drowning, and I can’t stretch my hands to reach them through my throat. They’ve absorbed too much; they’re heavy, but I can’t save them. I can’t drain the tears and blood; I can’t heal them.
So, I’ll shed my tears through my mouth. I’ll cry with my hands and feet, with my words, and with my songs, and with my dance, till I feel my heartbeat. I’ll shed my tears as sweat; they can’t pass through my eyes just yet.