A piece of fiction, for an imaginary ex-lover.
Disclaimer: Christians will be offended by parts of this. I didn't write it to be offensive... the characters spoke to me this way.
Black Eyeliner
I went out walking tonight, thinking of you. It's been a month now. One long month since I took your last picture. One eternity of a month since I woke up without you.
I'm still cold inside, baby. Frozen. I'm stuck in last month. Where we were, where we'll be forever. It got rocky near the end, didn't it? It was intense. We both know we only stayed together because we loved the way we hated each other... when we loved each other we made love. When we hated each other we fucked.
Fucking was better.
You're a son of a bitch, you know that? Some men are cowards... they dump you over the phone, or in an email, but baby you're the king. When I woke up, you were gone... I was lying naked in the middle of my hardwood floor.
What kind of sick fuck writes his goodbyes on his girlfriend's stomach in eyeliner?
You were always goddamn weird, that's for sure.
It's been a whole month, but you're still in my blood. I still writhe on the sheets on the floor, wishing you would come home to me. The bed is too comfortable, too soft, too real. I lie on the floor now... writing new things on myself. Black eyeliner... your favorite.
Do you remember the good old days? You used to sit on those sheets in the middle of my floor while I photographed you. The exquisite musculature of your back looked best half draped in sunlight. I liked to take pictures of your face obscured through glass, or covered by your perfect, ebony hair. You were most vulnerable naked, showing my camera your secrets. I liked to take close ups of your right eye. Black eyeliner... your favorite.
I had a picture of your naked frame embracing a sculpture of Jesus. Kissing him. Stroking his tormented, pain-wracked face as your penis pressed against his thigh. Blasphemous lust, oh how beautiful it was. You left stains on his chest. Tears you cried and black eyeliner... your favorite.
I leave a picture of you everywhere I go. Tonight it was a park bench. You're making love to a sculpture of Jesus, my darling, on a park bench.
And a street light gently shines on our lost love.
It's been a month. I miss you.
Black Eyeliner
I went out walking tonight, thinking of you. It's been a month now. One long month since I took your last picture. One eternity of a month since I woke up without you.
I'm still cold inside, baby. Frozen. I'm stuck in last month. Where we were, where we'll be forever. It got rocky near the end, didn't it? It was intense. We both know we only stayed together because we loved the way we hated each other... when we loved each other we made love. When we hated each other we fucked.
Fucking was better.
You're a son of a bitch, you know that? Some men are cowards... they dump you over the phone, or in an email, but baby you're the king. When I woke up, you were gone... I was lying naked in the middle of my hardwood floor.
What kind of sick fuck writes his goodbyes on his girlfriend's stomach in eyeliner?
You were always goddamn weird, that's for sure.
It's been a whole month, but you're still in my blood. I still writhe on the sheets on the floor, wishing you would come home to me. The bed is too comfortable, too soft, too real. I lie on the floor now... writing new things on myself. Black eyeliner... your favorite.
Do you remember the good old days? You used to sit on those sheets in the middle of my floor while I photographed you. The exquisite musculature of your back looked best half draped in sunlight. I liked to take pictures of your face obscured through glass, or covered by your perfect, ebony hair. You were most vulnerable naked, showing my camera your secrets. I liked to take close ups of your right eye. Black eyeliner... your favorite.
I had a picture of your naked frame embracing a sculpture of Jesus. Kissing him. Stroking his tormented, pain-wracked face as your penis pressed against his thigh. Blasphemous lust, oh how beautiful it was. You left stains on his chest. Tears you cried and black eyeliner... your favorite.
I leave a picture of you everywhere I go. Tonight it was a park bench. You're making love to a sculpture of Jesus, my darling, on a park bench.
And a street light gently shines on our lost love.
It's been a month. I miss you.