(no subject)
I feel like I don't have a right to this place anymore. I sit alone on my blue suede couch and read your secrets on my flashy phone and feel like a peeping tom sticking my un-confessional nose into your private lives while I say nothing. In my mind, i've made this screen the one way glass separating myself from the girl whose body I am raping while she cannot even see my face. I don't even tip. I feel guilty, ashamed but there's nothing I can do. If I bang on this window, I'll be banned from the club. If I leave anything they'll know who I am and I won't come back.
Instead I imagine placing my swollen hands with the cadaver fingers against the living hot skin of the women on display, praying the cold will jolt them into some brief waking state so I can cry into their living hands that, "you are beautifully unique and even in pieces you are more than I am. Please stop your dying, because they won't ever be worth it, and I can't bear to stand for it any longer." I want one moment to be as real and open as they are without the searing unbelievable self-loathing and concious embarrassment I feel for breathing with these half adequate lungs.
I'll never need to say another word.
Instead I imagine placing my swollen hands with the cadaver fingers against the living hot skin of the women on display, praying the cold will jolt them into some brief waking state so I can cry into their living hands that, "you are beautifully unique and even in pieces you are more than I am. Please stop your dying, because they won't ever be worth it, and I can't bear to stand for it any longer." I want one moment to be as real and open as they are without the searing unbelievable self-loathing and concious embarrassment I feel for breathing with these half adequate lungs.
I'll never need to say another word.