everyone is full of ****.
we are all just out for ourselves,
or out to please.
he scratches down her side.
digs his nails into the softness there.
kisses her freckles like lips could make flowers grow from the tiny dots that she calls home.
so she closes her eyes.
takes in the touch.
kisstouchteasefuckmoanfffffff
she lies her head on the cold pillow and slows her heartbeat.
thud… deep breath… thud… deep breath.
he whispers for her to come back.
get out of your head, he says. pulls her closer.
but she is too far gone in the memories of his lips kissing her freckles like flowers instead of ticking time bombs that are set to explode at any minute
and she is tired.
grown weak from the nights she spent dreaming of the nights she is spending.
here. with him. like this.
never in the present. this pretty princess decorates her castle walls with roses from the past.
but he is happy.
he is happy and he is important.
to himself,
and to those around him.
asks me the same question,
but i do not yet know the answer.
i sat alone in his kitchen this morning listening to the pop of ready toast from the toaster and loud rap music blasting from a car driving by.
the bread smells like something i should eat but i think i'm going to puke.
thoughts i have not yet deconstructed pushing at my pores,
trying to make their escape.
jammed up on the inside of my skin, i'm afraid if i open my mouth they'll all come flying out like caged birds and slam against a window to their death.
so i sit on the cold chair and inhale.
so i sit in his car and stare out the window.