Headed back away from the city in the back of a cab that’s color now matches her skin tone. Her head is on my shoulder, my head is in the clouds. Her gaze is pointed out at the clouds rushing by as quick as the blood underneath my suit and tie. No, farther than that. Much deeper even though I hate to admit it. Her sullen face gives off the appearance of a landscape. Her eyes like two moons reflecting off the small rivers now leaking from underneath them. The water spilling out down my sleeve and following the thread count of my attire. There’s that rush again. I gotta get out. She should probly leave, too. But she already left herself to me. And that leaves me no choice.

Here’s 35 dollars. A good portion of that is my rent money.

The door is battered and rusted and the place is a disaster. I can see why she likes it, external experience reflects whats inside you. She behaves uncommonly and I soon follow suit. She undresses from the inside out. We really are the oddest of creatures. Her lust is sawdust and the wind is blowing it into chaos through the open blinds. I appeach my modesty. I’ve forsaken my fortitude long ago. She already knows that I don’t know what I’m doing. Her skin crawls like the roaches under the cheap motel television and our very organs are panhandling for some sort of relief. Two bodies entirely composed of old fire wood and dry leaves. I hear the soft ambience of running water and dry heaves from the bathroom and she convinces herself that I can’t hear.

Let me slip into something more comfortable: the night air. And that’s it. All I see from here on out is inferno. The breathing is all too heavy to lift. The claws on my neck. The saliva. The black tar of what’s inside me leaking down onto her body. Its all just fucking flames. The universe had thrown a lit match to our dry timbre.

There’s fists and tears and screams all that other shit and its all mine. She leaves everything here.

Wreckless. Fucking. Abandonment.

All those tarnishes and stains and bad dreams and bad things she can take out on me. My body is a cabinet. And she stacks her depravity like fine China. All the wine glasses of her problematic childhood and silver wear of her fathers fists and ex-lovers who didn’t tend to break that chain of command.

No softness. No tenderness. No intellect. Just fingers down my throat. Just homesickness.

Well anyways…there is scars. Quite a few. There is one under her left ribcage I noticed as I pull on the covers and she pulls on a joint and smashes up a line of coke with almost the same ferocity as she she just unleashed on me. Pounding on my cabinet doors of my chest.

I couldn’t be any farther from home. She is pegasus in bondage and I am her Atlas. And the foot on the back of her head matches her own heels. And the door is always locked in this place.