Red Skies
I kiss her
She kisses me back
I lick her
She licks me back
We smile, lips touching
Black, red an purple on milky white skin.
“Wanna see the new trick I discovered?” She asks.
“Give me your worst”, I answer.
Sanding string is wrapped around the rope that tightly ties my wrists.
“Wanna see what happens when you struggle enough?”
“I’ll figure out myself.”
“Want some incentive? I got whips.”
“Maybe some crack cocaine?”
Bloody wrists
Chinese finger trap but the entrapment doesn’t come from the paper around your fingers, but from the pain rushing through your body.
I give up.
She helps me to a collar and I’m her sobbing little bitch.
“’I wonder what else I can make you do’”, she says and we both giggle.
“Why don’t you try flogging me with a scallion bulb?”
Breakfast is served with pancakes and grape juice and scrambled eggs.
We both agree on getting an espresso after, at the café down the street.
“You’re a pancake master”, she says.
“Too bad you’re out of honey. Honey pancakes are even better than syrup ones.”
“Yeah, too bad.”
We finish eating in silence, expectant for the next big quote to be uttered.
At the café we sit outside, bathing in the morning sun.
“Your skin is so beautiful. You shouldn’t hide your scars”, she says, looking into my eyes, ready to eat my soul. “Aren’t you proud of them?”
I don’t respond, she knows the answer.
“You are so beautiful. You shouldn’t hide yourself”, she tries once more, in uncharacteristic fashion.
“What’s wrong with you today?” I question.
“No idea. Just felt right to say.”
“You know me better than myself. Right now it sounds like you’re a doppelgänger.”
“With how much of your ass I ate last night, might as well be one.”
We giggle.
“Hope you’re not too tired for a second round”, I reply with a half-smile.
“I was born tired. A little more or little less mean nothing to me.”
“Want me to carry you to bed?”, she asks.
“You know I do.”
See red, sore head.
Scratches on my back burn
Eyes water, ice cold apartment, tears fall like icicles
She sleeps soundly beside me.
The beautiful one.
I feel bad for myself
I’m not worthy of her or being here with her
or making pancakes for her.
She’s too much for me and I feel like I can’t take it even though I know pretty well I can and there’s no reason to think otherwise.
I run my hands through my torso and my breasts feel way too soft, and my stomach feels way too hairy, and the bruises are so sensitive that a new tear finds its way into the pillow every time I move.
I’m disgusting.
The feeling of self pity is no more, replaced by an incessant desire of coming out of my own flesh.
Don’t want to live like this anymore.
Open window
The curtains fly.
Three stories is enough if I do it right and
The pavement calls my name
But I don’t do it.
The comforting warm hand rests on my shoulder.
The only source of heat in this iglu of an apartment.
“Are you OK?” She half-whispers to me.
“Thought I saw a helicopter outside. Wanted to check it out.”
She hugs me from behind, barely awake.
“I want your cute tits for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Guess I’m making pancakes again, then”, I reply but she already fell asleep standing there, arms around me.
I close the window
The curtains settle.
I’m so confused.
She’s back in bed, my clothes back on me.
I’m leaving, I guess
I don’t know
Don’t know what I want.
If only it wasn’t so hard to make decisions.
I want to cook her breakfast but every pot and pan is being used to collect an incessant trill of water dripping from my ceiling and I can’t stop raining and it’s been raining for at least forty days and she’s not the ark I’m looking for.
So I open the door, hope she didn’t hear anything
But of course she did
She always knows my next step.
I’m better off on my own
I’m no good here or nowhere
And I know that’s not true
But it feels right to think this way.
Close the door, I’m out
Trying to escape but the stairs hold me back
And I sit down, not knowing what to do.
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