Jan 2019
I search through the dark parts of this city for celebrations; clubs or just crowded sweaty rooms where people dance, unaware of anything more than what is right in front of them. The alcohol and the drugs flow into their bloodstream clouding judgments, blinding them, making them crave pain the way a baby craves his mother’s attention.
Without the sun, no one has a shadow to watch over them.
I am bumped and grinded into by both girls and boys, they crave me, as if I was a succulent, chocolate treat, but I don’t crave them, having tasted all varieties of blood I am now very choosy.
I suddenly feel a familiar warm tingle throughout my body as if my hair is stretching; my teeth ache from a sudden growth spurt, and slightly puncture my lips. I spot the object of my longing across the room, the naked nape of a lonely blonde; long whispers of nearly transparent hair spread across her back, skin as white as mourning, a dove, with rivers of blue pulsing through her. As the Nile, they are the beginning and the end of life. They create a map that guides me to her, her to me. I can feel the beating; each breath of her chest is inside of me. She takes me back to the first day, memories of a thousand years reside inside of me and I still remember that first day.
Just before my never-fail dark eyes can call her to me a vulture of another color swoops in; carrying her carcass away. She was dead before I met her, anyway.
Space is expanding as the crowd grows thin; the music slows to a draining pulse. I know that sound, the end of the night is near; I leave this lonely land with all the other detached doves and vultures.
I stop at the corner where three streets meet and stare at the dark sky about to blink itself awake, bumming a smoke from one of the aforementioned.
I think back telling myself my story, as if it is the history of life itself.
My sky has only a multitude of stars, never a sun.
I think back to a time in the past when the future was still possible
when she was in the same room as me. I think of red wine and loneliness; the temptation to taste first blood and wake up full.
I bite my lip and taste the sourness of the words I spoke to her;
words that would fall on deaf ears anyway.
Death is a lingering shadow that disappears when I come near.
Without the sun, no one has a shadow to watch over them.
I am bumped and grinded into by both girls and boys, they crave me, as if I was a succulent, chocolate treat, but I don’t crave them, having tasted all varieties of blood I am now very choosy.
I suddenly feel a familiar warm tingle throughout my body as if my hair is stretching; my teeth ache from a sudden growth spurt, and slightly puncture my lips. I spot the object of my longing across the room, the naked nape of a lonely blonde; long whispers of nearly transparent hair spread across her back, skin as white as mourning, a dove, with rivers of blue pulsing through her. As the Nile, they are the beginning and the end of life. They create a map that guides me to her, her to me. I can feel the beating; each breath of her chest is inside of me. She takes me back to the first day, memories of a thousand years reside inside of me and I still remember that first day.
Just before my never-fail dark eyes can call her to me a vulture of another color swoops in; carrying her carcass away. She was dead before I met her, anyway.
Space is expanding as the crowd grows thin; the music slows to a draining pulse. I know that sound, the end of the night is near; I leave this lonely land with all the other detached doves and vultures.
I stop at the corner where three streets meet and stare at the dark sky about to blink itself awake, bumming a smoke from one of the aforementioned.
I think back telling myself my story, as if it is the history of life itself.
My sky has only a multitude of stars, never a sun.
I think back to a time in the past when the future was still possible
when she was in the same room as me. I think of red wine and loneliness; the temptation to taste first blood and wake up full.
I bite my lip and taste the sourness of the words I spoke to her;
words that would fall on deaf ears anyway.
Death is a lingering shadow that disappears when I come near.
