What is my brain made of?
You.
It’s swollen pink with your handprints and eternal pleasures.
I’ve been quiet for a minute, closing my eyes in the dark room and feeling fingertips dance on my spine.
You could make my hoarse throat sing lyrics I had never heard before.
Pleasure.
Withdrawals.
A container for your memories now,
I hold every second of contact, every touch, every word in my head.
My brain is made of you.
You’re the greatest good that has killed me.
All I need, gone.
I would cut my head off if you weren’t still holding me together,
or, I could,
but something tells me you’d watch it roll down a hill.
-Chloe Aldecoa
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
What is my brain made of?
You.
It’s swollen pink with your handprints and eternal pleasures.
I’ve been quiet for a minute, closing my eyes in the dark room and feeling fingertips dance on my spine.
You could make my hoarse throat sing lyrics I had never heard before.
Pleasure.
Withdrawals.
A container for your memories now,
I hold every second of contact, every touch, every word in my head.
My brain is made of you.
You’re the greatest good that has killed me.
All I need, gone.
I would cut my head off if you weren’t still holding me together,
or, I could,
but something tells me you’d watch it roll down a hill.
-Chloe Aldecoa
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