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Journal entry #2

Curled up on the bathroom floor.
I stare down at my phone, so long, that my eyes glaze over.
Surprised I remembered all the songs that use to set my soul on fire.
Music was always my second love, and then there was you.

Already tipsy, I take a long swig from my bottle of jack and say to myself, (Rip it, its just like a bandaid just do it.)

I hit shuffle and the first song that plays is...
(H.O.L.Y. by Florida Georgia Line)

The pain that washed over me was excruciating. It made every hair on my body stand and shiver. Tears fell from my eyes as my mind brought me right back to that time, and that place, in that car, as I brought you to our home and you sang that song to me.

I remember thanking God in this moment.
I finally had you back. I remember thinking how lucky I was... Blessed.
Thinking we conquered it all.
Feeling like I had died and gone to heaven and there you were.

I felt short of breath, I felt like I was suffocating. Because I  never knew such a happiness existed...never wanting someone so much in your life..

Try to see this through my eyes.
Life hasent always been good to me.
I try to see the good in life.
But good things in life are hard to find.
But then, in walks a man I thought was sent from heaven.
Maybe, it was finally my time to be happy?

God is that you?

Too blind to see it at the time, but God was saying No the entire time.

I was blown away, what could I say?
It all seemed to make sense at the time.
Stupid me, thinking he loved me, as much as I loved him.
Your eyes are my *******.
Your kiss leaves me breathless.  
Your fingers are my toys.
I submit my body and my heart
For your abuse or adoration.
With you the red bag stays zipped.
Don’t you dare give me a blindfold
Don’t you dare gag my mouth
Don’t put leathers between us.
Only one thing does it for me.
Call it a fetish or call it love.
I just want you.
Squinting,
I focus on your two hands with precise laser vision.

Those hands I swore as the blood fills my veins that I knew their cellular intention as well as I savored my own muscle memory of you.

The hands that were magnets, my body first drawn to the heat of them
While I scrutinize every slight movement of
Those fingers and palms
That touched every part of me

Inside and out

Those same skin covered bits of muscle tendon and fibers of nerves
Betrayed me too.

Just like you did.

You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself

How did they feel when they touched the not me?

Any remorse; guilt? (or not enough, anyway)

So I watch them like a hawk, the right hand, the left hand.

My eyes dart back and forth,
Eagle eye boring deep beneath the epidermis to the pulsing veins and bones and sinew.

I turn your hand over to the ******* and trace your lifeline

Searching for that one moment where the decision was made to touch not me

They must’ve stroked and groped and caressed and penetrated the same sort of body parts like me, but different-the not me.

The hands in unison that pulled me to you for that embrace, the one you know which one I’m talking about

Ever vigilant to the conception of time the time that was before and not now
The hands that deceived and destroyed me.

The now indifferent hands, the now careless touch
Me
And
Now not me.
Apples
And
Cigarettes

Go so well together.
The fruit of death
And the sower of it.
He drew a figure eight on my spine, absentmindedly,
and traced the nape of my neck with his fingertip when he said,
“You are beautiful to me.”

But the ellipsis in the silence spoke louder than he did, and the look in his eye was not born because I was lovely;
It was not because he loved me.

A thing too small for love-
But far too large to be lust;

Simple. Ugly.

He looked at me like he was hungry.

So sweetly he critiqued each curve, every line, blurring my edges with the images of every bent perception pulled from the mire of his mind;

and I
could not
satisfy


Pretty innocence diminished in the grip of his vice,
Pressed tight against my body, despised in dark eyes.
I am not the inhuman creatures you contrived in the middle of the night.
I am not the feminine expression of your ******* pride.

What a wicked crime,
to take a woman’s body and leave the woman behind.
We are all moths
seeking the moon
but finding streetlights
instead.

*

-JBClaywell

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