goodnight sleep light
"I don't love you anymore." Her pale skin and thin wrists were trembling with passion, and her fists relaxed as the words boiled out from her full mouth and hot tounge. Her hard grey eyes flashed with the cold ambition that he remembered so well from the earlier days for when they loved one another as a mutualism. Now he was no more than a parasite. That's what those eyes said to him. Instead of replying like he knew he should be thinking so despretely about he couldn't help thinking of all of the irony this would be worth. It was a kings ransom worth. Ambition to begin and ambition to end. And he wondered what his therapist would say about this.
"It was over when I couldn't force those thick words out of my mouth every day. When we couldn't love the same things. We aren't tied together like I want to be to..."
"Like you are to him?" The ring that his coffee cup made on the table was wet, like his eyes should be. Brown as dirt it brought out the deeper tones of the cheap wood table that was probably bought at a yard sale. You could almost see the crayon that was still left on it by the man who sold it to throw away a memory. Or the cheap table was a table at best. A relationship between the table and someone else was possible but improbable. But this wasn't what he was supposed to listen to. He couldn't make money off of thoughts he used to avoid the subject of the matter. Of the reason he was staring down at a dirt brown ring, wet with his coffee-stained tears of what should be of his shedding by the end of the night. Why he was here, with the best cup of coffee he had ever encountered and the best woman he had ever had.
"He's not involved in this. He doesn't define my love for anyone..."
"You know that's not true." A lullaby from the cash register as the barista asked for the next willingly starving customer. The lullaby that mommy never sang to you, but that lulls you to the dreams of caffeine, pastries, and europe that you'll never visit with the woman you have always missed. A lullaby of addiction and a lullaby of love. Love that he knew so many times in the stall of the bathroom here after the rich coffees and disgusting pastries pre-packaged to fit your needs. He slammed down his cup spilling the perfect brew down his 75% off jeans and rushed to the door to disappear from the reality of dreaming for too long. He found himself passionately staring into her ambitiously biting stare across a cheap wood table with no past but his own and no coffee on his legs that may provide a release from what he needed most.
"I am not yours." She kept each word trite and controlled with all of her certainty of love's directions and determinations. So many men she had left when the leaves had just begun to ferment and die from the murder of it's host. So many men she had loved as the winter kept her heart a prison of inherent disease. So many men she had destroyed in the thawing of her mind and love. She was determined for this to be the last, as she put a ciggarette to her lips and pulled in the intoxication you can't get from coffee. He hated this deliberate death. He couldn't stand seeing her die slowly from a suicide too artisticly tied to her hearts domain. She loved how he would cringe with every breath that killed him slowly with her. She used to blow it past his head, as close as she could get without blinding or burning away his love, but he wasn't worth the death she needed. She wanted her death to be alone and away from this stain on her fingernails. "I loved you, but you tried too hard. I can't be your little whore as I once was."
"I always liked it when you would chain yourself down. The struggle was almost fun." No smile passed between the gaurds of their ice-cold barred windows of eyes. There was no dance of lips on clever words.
"I can't let you take me over. I can't spend all of my life on invisible riches." Her eyes feinted over his forehead that peaked into hair that was never one way or the other. Down over the abyss between his neck and chin that was patched over with stubble that would've kept him warm had he been locked in her winter heart's chambers and ventricles.
Her eyes constricted as the passion reached a breaking point. And he would remember that she was his coffee-stain and the crayons that his son would mark up the walls in the future would be images of her, despite his wife's flawfully beautiful compatability and devotion. His hands gripped the cup of diluted coffee grounds in the impulse to kiss her rich lips that still dripped with the poisonous vowels. And she would remember that he was a miscommunication from ground control and she would never forget the paths that it made her go down on a planet far from her realized mind. They would never forget the pieces of heart that were served in cups of coffee from one to the other, as they paid for eachothers drinks as usual. They would remember the beggining and the end, as her eyes flashed with the ambition that will nip your heels raw.
"It was over when I couldn't force those thick words out of my mouth every day. When we couldn't love the same things. We aren't tied together like I want to be to..."
"Like you are to him?" The ring that his coffee cup made on the table was wet, like his eyes should be. Brown as dirt it brought out the deeper tones of the cheap wood table that was probably bought at a yard sale. You could almost see the crayon that was still left on it by the man who sold it to throw away a memory. Or the cheap table was a table at best. A relationship between the table and someone else was possible but improbable. But this wasn't what he was supposed to listen to. He couldn't make money off of thoughts he used to avoid the subject of the matter. Of the reason he was staring down at a dirt brown ring, wet with his coffee-stained tears of what should be of his shedding by the end of the night. Why he was here, with the best cup of coffee he had ever encountered and the best woman he had ever had.
"He's not involved in this. He doesn't define my love for anyone..."
"You know that's not true." A lullaby from the cash register as the barista asked for the next willingly starving customer. The lullaby that mommy never sang to you, but that lulls you to the dreams of caffeine, pastries, and europe that you'll never visit with the woman you have always missed. A lullaby of addiction and a lullaby of love. Love that he knew so many times in the stall of the bathroom here after the rich coffees and disgusting pastries pre-packaged to fit your needs. He slammed down his cup spilling the perfect brew down his 75% off jeans and rushed to the door to disappear from the reality of dreaming for too long. He found himself passionately staring into her ambitiously biting stare across a cheap wood table with no past but his own and no coffee on his legs that may provide a release from what he needed most.
"I am not yours." She kept each word trite and controlled with all of her certainty of love's directions and determinations. So many men she had left when the leaves had just begun to ferment and die from the murder of it's host. So many men she had loved as the winter kept her heart a prison of inherent disease. So many men she had destroyed in the thawing of her mind and love. She was determined for this to be the last, as she put a ciggarette to her lips and pulled in the intoxication you can't get from coffee. He hated this deliberate death. He couldn't stand seeing her die slowly from a suicide too artisticly tied to her hearts domain. She loved how he would cringe with every breath that killed him slowly with her. She used to blow it past his head, as close as she could get without blinding or burning away his love, but he wasn't worth the death she needed. She wanted her death to be alone and away from this stain on her fingernails. "I loved you, but you tried too hard. I can't be your little whore as I once was."
"I always liked it when you would chain yourself down. The struggle was almost fun." No smile passed between the gaurds of their ice-cold barred windows of eyes. There was no dance of lips on clever words.
"I can't let you take me over. I can't spend all of my life on invisible riches." Her eyes feinted over his forehead that peaked into hair that was never one way or the other. Down over the abyss between his neck and chin that was patched over with stubble that would've kept him warm had he been locked in her winter heart's chambers and ventricles.
Her eyes constricted as the passion reached a breaking point. And he would remember that she was his coffee-stain and the crayons that his son would mark up the walls in the future would be images of her, despite his wife's flawfully beautiful compatability and devotion. His hands gripped the cup of diluted coffee grounds in the impulse to kiss her rich lips that still dripped with the poisonous vowels. And she would remember that he was a miscommunication from ground control and she would never forget the paths that it made her go down on a planet far from her realized mind. They would never forget the pieces of heart that were served in cups of coffee from one to the other, as they paid for eachothers drinks as usual. They would remember the beggining and the end, as her eyes flashed with the ambition that will nip your heels raw.