(no subject)
Empty morning: the phone vibrating at my bedside, a sharp buzzer wailing out for me to wake. I invited the hot water into my body after some minutes in bed, trying to ease this sex out of me &, for the first time, failing. My skin is soft and smooth, but the baptism failed to deliver some whole-body cleansing. Standing in my underwear before a cold mirror spotted with my greasy fingerprints, I chipped away the paint and now I am no longer yours, no longer allowing myself to be affected by this. Yet I prop open my eyelids until two a.m., spilling these whispers over phone lines. I dream of fish & birds with bristly-soft feathers to beat against my cheeks, and when the sun promises to stay, I think maybe I will find myself living alone.
"My heart still hurts sometimes." When I let this escape me, I feel like I'm still such a little girl. It's wrong of me to want to draw you in, to pour these secrets into your ears just to see how soft they glow. It's wrong of me to want to build love so that I will no longer have to think of the stitches itching to come undone. I just want you to know the story of this body, of this skin; I'd just like you to come, sometimes, and put your arms around me. I don't expect any great miracles, any revolution, any solution. Just come be my distraction and I will promise to only tell you that much. I won't lace our bodies into we; you can stand as far away as you need. Please just stay; please just be something soft & strong & warm.
JUST TALK TO ME, PLEASE.