Does rhyming correlate to the same plane of meaning? Does the static vibration of the words on the tongue mean what I fear it does? What does it mean for a girl who cloaks herself in vomit?
Skin is fire, skin is raw and touch does not satiate the violent need for closeness. Blink, steadfast and hazy and nothing matters and I smirk with a sideways grin and there's a brief shudder, and she steps outside herself. Fingertips run over the curves of thighs and hips and its impossibly soft but it leaves red trails; it sings, taunting tinkling whimsy all of the tremendous and unyielding /need/.
I say I do not understand, that I do not know. Lie, the body akimbo and everything is strewn about and there is trash that pours out of the landfill and covers all of the treasure until its forgotten that anything not covered in rot could exist at all.
Rumpled sheets, a face of death, eyes rolled up towards the ceiling and prayers for the gray to turn to colors. Hesitant thoughts, hopeful whims, a knife in the skin and a wish for deeper contact and gray shimmers out and fades like a mirage!- freedom?- the shimmer lives only to produce a forever unchanging black. It is the black of the soul, skin, mind; it flakes off like the dead reject it is; I scrub and scrub and scrub at my face to try to hide in the fleshy pink but as one layer falls another grows to replace, all scales and serpent tongues and feathers burst through the iris and everything suddenly looks as if it could take flight. I ache to feel sad. Lucidity is rare and tiring and it burns like fire because there will never be enough time to right all that has gone wrong. Death would be better than the anxious agony that it means to be hopeless. Loathe, it rises more quickly than a fake word from the mouth of a whore and lithe bodies break at the waist and are thrown away because they do not matter. I lust to unhinge my jaw and pull out my entrails like a clown's colored scarf, laughing with a red nose and jokes that split sides AND HERE IS A SECRET!- should anyone be curious to look, they would know that sides can stitch back together only with thread acquired by the condemned. Colors equate to sins and I am a rainbow girl. Cheshire grin.
He does not understand. I am a slinking creature, a animal that lives only at night because light would engulf my flesh in flame. Sliding snake, sidling up into foreign souls because I do not have my own. Inspect, reject, intake and output, I laugh and laugh and laugh and cut my ribs with a fervor matched only by the need to run away.
He's taken with the colors; the glittering sheen of light separated and cast in a rainbow across the sky entrances him, and fangs paralyze while he ignorantly looks at the view. Predator and prey and the silent bystander who loses her body to the perfumed Venus fly trap and SNAP SNAP SNAP his neck is lost to too strong jaws. I weep as I watch, it is torturous, I do not want this! I feel the swollen monster in my belly and I cry at what I will birth into the world but I do not have the courage to kill us both; I am afraid. Sorry means nothing from me; I do not trust my own words. I second guess and turn and turn in front of the mirror in agony and the reflection shimmers and changes and I am scared to look too close and footsteps ring loud in flight. His fingertips abruptly brushes my cheek and I cannot speak. I am stricken into silence, but my eyes scream that it is not safe and he needs to get out. I plead with the spider and ask for his safety, but the web is /so/ tight around my throat and suffocation strangles out the words and every time I lose more and more and cannot think as clearly.
/I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry, I want away from me too./
I want the words to be untainted with the poison, but they have to travel through my tar soaked mouth and they're ruined before they ever hit the air. Creatures of the light cannot handle creatures of the night and I strike his cheek and tell him to leave because he is still more pure than me and the blood on my hands drips drips drips down onto the gray slate floor. The red print across his cheek is so bright that I retch and get sick. Get out, get out of my life and my heart and my body because my body is nothing and my mind is everything and you are something and why the fuck are you still here?
I'm sorry, baby boy, angel-faced child; I am sorry. Cycles of victimization, hoping to tire you out, please little one, will you please get out? I cradle our child in my arms and then drop it to the ground as I tremble and shake and grow manic and I forget I was ever a mother. I can only hold the cage door open for so long baby boy!; my muscles may soon tire and it will snap closed and /it be absolute/ and you will forever be trapped into the world I created but do not understand because I am not real. Welcome, welcome, boisterous grins and a flourish of the hands and I will bow you into Wonderland. Wonder at the depth, and the blood, but do not touch little child! Please do not touch or it will suck you in and the quicksand will turn to mud and you will suffocate in something so very similar to vile bile.
Drip, drip, drip down in a scribbling hand of a very tiny little girl who is just learning how to write.
Get out angel boy.
I am sorry.