luvinminutes
i started crying a week ago and can't stop, it won't stop coming out, why, why? is it college, is it the stress, roommates, workload, exams, the seventh-layer hell of this cold campus on sunny fall days? is it how warm my sheets are compared to the unheated dorms? is it how ugly i am compared to everyone else? is it how few friends i've made? is it how far i am from home? i don't know i don't know. i'm collapsing, disgusting, under the weight of everything i've made and have yet to make. don't let me die yet. just don't.
Master, master
I'll cry for you in any event
that forces you to break my skin for a chance to say
"Aren't you beautiful?"
And I would say no
but for the ball you wrapped my teeth around.
My very own slime dripped into me
and I cried,
master, master.
"charmed, I'm sure," his smile gives off the varied lights of the nightclub-esque environment, all darkness and fog and lasers. he bends to place a kiss on the back of her hand, to wink his eyes up at hers as he does so. the blush across her face is washed out by the blinking lights above the dj stand.
"i-indeed," she stammers, for want of a better thing to say, and shifts her gaze anywhere but his. he smirks at this again, and drops her hand, slowly, as if saying goodbye.
he tilts his head, his thin eyebrows raised in a low-eyed expression like amusement combined with the thrill of the chase. the glint off his teeth find her shaking eyes again, "shall we make our way to the dancefloor, then, my love?"
the open wound on her spine becomes a hard, maroon scab, itching and crunching on her back as she rolls her shoulders and washes her hair. that scab peels and stings under the harsh torrent of scalding water, becomes thin and pink and fleshy, glistening on her back like muscle peaking through the skin. finally scar tissue folds over the tender petals of skin and forms a seal, a symbol of something that has ended, and a new thing that will begin and begin and begin.
when the world opened up and swallowed her, no one could scream. no one could avert their gaze, or even think. his reaction was the fastest. it was to run. jump the chasm, barrel headfirst into her, snaking his arms around her waist ans squeezing as hard as he could while she laughed and laughed. she slipped her fingers into his hair and they descended, godspeed, beyond the mortals of the surface, beyond the fire bugs and blooming oil deposits of earth's mantle, and into the heart, the deep, celestial, fiery heart that prayed to them when they touched it, not the other way around. she landed on her toes, like a dancer, and sunk gracefully into the scalding plasma, while he clung to her, wanting to look around but eyes locked on her smile, just her smile, and by the way her arm held him across his shoulders, to her chest, he knew he was safe. whatever was happening not only were they safe, but she was in control, and she would give him anything just for that tiny bit of loyalty he just showed her.
she goes around like that too often. in nothing but my polo shirt and her underwear. bare legs, bare arms, even in winter around the below-freezing house because we're both too cheap to turn up the heat. of course i myself don't mind. i do mind when she forgets what she's wearing and answers the door like that.
they stumbled off the ship, trying to get their bearings, trying not to fall over as their legs connected to their first bit of solid ground in weeks. they were sent across the pond on an mission, husbands and wives, families with kids, to begin a small village. the work began immediately: a few men were felling trees, women were scavenging for berries, the kids were gathering firewood.
the way the bomb leveled the terrain, made it a smooth, unblemished--unarguably lovely--plate of glass, startled even her. she stared down at it, stared at the reflections of the nonplussed clouds in the gentle green left by the wake of the devastating explosion--was no one question? what they'd done? what was really the cause of this beauty?--and had the urge to jump into it, to pencil dive as though it were simple a pond, blooming with seafoam algae, nothing more, nothing that would leave her with a poisoned body and soul, nothing that would leave her with broken legs should she chose to vault from the roof into the venomous mirror.
the print of her leggings, a sharp contrast to the plain grey of her long-sleeved tunic, and the strawberry cream of her vest. it was wild and the print seemed to spin and dance as she moved, giving you a headache as you stared. or maybe that was the whack of her hand on the back of your head for staring that gave you the headache, but her smile was primal and dark as her leggings so you just gave a huff of a laugh and continued staring.
well this girl is four feet of being super annoying to me right now.
and i'm sure she's thinking, "damn girl five feet of what-do-you-think-you're-doing."
i click my tongue and look away from her, even though she isn't doing much and we're supposed to be working together, i just want to get this project done and get my good grade, my better grade than her to be exact, but here she is with that amazing powerpoint and i kind of want to accidentally spill water on her laptop. but since we're step-sisters that probably wouldn't fly. oh well.
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