she cuts her hair with a burning cigarette and says I want to drink your scents in perfect darkness with nothing but the smell of your neck on my hands. I can do anything, she says, even in a state of confusion and self imposed detachment, I will have you forever. my head’s not there, but who needs thoughts anymore. she smiles, she plays with knives, she goes. outside, the sky wears an apocalyptic glow.
I didn’t know what to do then. you found me crouching in the dark with flesh hanging off my bones in a fucked up exhibition of poses. it’s not mine to keep, they seem to scream, and I just laugh at their perfect faces and I see through it, I do, I do, but today I lost my hands. the message worms itself into my movements. liquid tin through steel framed veins.
I choke on the bedroom air. oily tears sink into your neck like slow bullets.
pushed into four corners, a strange light, and I did it all, sliced us up into lone entities. sometimes I choke on the metallic smell.
eyes closing hard at the highest speed and head falling down or to the side, into perfect darkness, where the surface is slippery and abstract and forgetful. far off, a dull bang. and here I am, oblivious, counting my breaths.
Sometimes when the light seeps in and overlap the shadows in every nook and cranny, forming amethyst cascades shooting sprouts up the walls, I close my eyes and let life wind in fast forward. Vibrant purple spots leaks from under my eyelids and embroids faces, so real, but not from any memory. I know I will distinguish them in a vast crowd someday but it does not matter now. Everything is in its right place and I feel the time is square; I am hurled between the corners and sometimes I return far too soon.