devinsa
your synapses rapid-firing, one neural pathway after another - these are the last wet choking seconds of your life -- flicker, flicker as the fire dies and fades.
tight together we coil and uncoil beneath egyptian cotton sheets; my legs are like ivy around yours and i snake my fingers into your sweaty hair and breathe in huffs against your neck -- there is a gnashing of teeth against skin and a growling in my throat and a need so heavy and visceral.
and the balloon, silent, drifted through the night sky; an eerie orb tailed by its streaming ribbon, and i thought: where is it's child?
to seek shelter from the aftermath of us is futile and yet i still try, even with the phantom memories still fresh on my mind.
there is a stinging beneath my skin like a thousand ants eating away at my flesh from the inside-out, crawling and feeling and desperate to pour out my mouth and eyes and ears and i keep thinking to myself, i won't be able to stop them.
i always return to you though not to your arms or a warm embrace but rather return to hating you, my blood boiling and bubbling against my skin as i clench my fist and wonder why me and you was ever an option.
there were creases in the corners of her eyes - reminders that at one time, before me, there was laughter in her life, curving in the corner of her thick lips and touching her eyes, which no longer sparkle or gleam when they pass over me, but grow steely and cold.
when i think about you, i think about how dull your eyes were, and how i was constantly searching for depth within their murkiness, and then one day, i thought to myself, "maybe that's it, maybe that's all" and i hated you.
i am a prisoner with my back arched, waiting for your hovering touch.
inside your physical heart, there is a septum that separates the left side from the right; i wonder, in love, if there is another that creates a division between love and hate.
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