it's only a little bit like a toothache when your eyes well over in that muted, melancholy way.
i had so sorely forgotten this place the anxiety, fresh like a cresting wave that languid boil in my throat the therapist tells me that I have to take deep breaths and hold myself where it burns, tenderly but i always end up choking myself.
limp attempts to strangle the fervent clamor my brain revolves a harrowing dialogue, masquerading as novel thoughts
this afternoon i stood, back to the sweat-slicked masses my own mess of rank and fear dripping from brow to navel tears vaporizing mid-air before they could season the eggs
and i realized in the most painful way that the pallid, grease-burned hands stroking my neck in some strange semblance of comfort might as well be his,
they should have cremated him. i ache to hold reverence on the same ground in which he rots.
you were humming between my legs while i twitched and gasped and then i burst into tears. wracking sobs, really, the kind that make my chest hitch and your mouth kept hitting my ***** bone while i shook, orgasming and crying.
i want to say a lot of things about the why, how and of course and to be honest with you and i think
but my lips are too swollen with his death. his bloated corpse is hiding in my throat, slicing up my insides, and i'm so ******* allergic, can't you see in the ways my hands flail and my eyes bulge?
all the lengths of my skin are boiling, your validation a soothing salve for a moment, before dissipating in my wretched heat
can't you see that this all fell into place decades ago? from the very first time you had somewhere better to be, someone else who needed your time and space, i was already burning. so small and slight, trembling just a little bit.
it was youyouYOU
all of you, now dead and rotting or just as good as