Tag Archives: lust

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They are the two most relatable and utterly contagious human afflictions: love and hatred. And passion is the the most ironic impetus behind both, which quite often causes these two emotions to be synonymous. It’s why we keep coming back to the ones that hurt us the most. Its criminals always return to the scene of the crime. Why the feeder rat runs over to sniff the snake.
I woke up outside and searched desperately in hopes that last night was a dream. But, scratches, bruises, bite marks…..These are all binding contracts that can not be refuted. I caught a glimpse of myself in an old dirty mirror and noticed my eyes resembled an old, worn photograph from the 1800s. The meloncholly it brought numbed me a little, just enough to go back to sleep for another hour or so. The animals sleep outside…..

She keeps me here because the thinks I’m good for her. As if i am the one that’s gonna save her, and that makes me the worst type of hero. The ones that lead you out to the fires under the guise of an innocent and loyal companion who doesn’t know better. I am the canine that destroys all her favorite things and she keeps letting sleep in her bed because I am warm at night. I am the wolf she mistakes for her shepard. And that alone must be enough because there’s nothing else. No comfort, No compassion. Just bent fences and torn dresses. Picked locks and talking our way out of handcuffs. Hours later, applying them myself.
Hours later talking myself into leaving.
Hours later waking up outside.
We are all the most terrible when we are alone. We are all the most unforgivable when the doors are locked. Ive seen it all and talked them into most of it. Because I’m terribly afraid to admit that love and hatred are the same thing. It’s why I choke her when I kiss her. Comfort is the warm room where the greatest obscenities occur. It’s the parasite in my chest and the dreams tearing me limb from limb at night. It’s why I refuse to take you home, because I still haven’t found one. It’s why i sleep outside with the other animals.

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I don’t remember the drive,  but I remember the feeling of being driven somewhere.

I dont remember looking out across the river, but I remember her smashing my head against the rocks.

I remember being dragged towards the black water.

And I remember waking up with her arms wrapped around my waist. My dried blood strategically burried underneath her fingernails.
Crying and apologizing.
Not for what happened, but sorry that she couldn’t finish.
And I spattered an apology through my torn lips as well.
For the latter.

Fuck you, (name removed)
Now I have to start all over.

What a tedious task it is to find such women that lack just the right amount of chemical compounds in their pretty little minds.

Because any less of a lover would be much too unimpressive, and not as horribly alluring.  And anything beyond this type of psychosis would be too far gone.

What a strange burden is it when you have the unfortunate capacity to intelectualize such a thing.
But I truely find it hard to conceive a more passionate type of rapture than to fall victim to one another’s relentless talons. The same ones that retract and bring you great warmth you by day, rip you limb from limb at night.

These are the singular types of encounters that could only happen once in a lifetime since, through their insufferable dismantling, either one of us dies, or all essential pieces needed to ever properly comprehend such endeavors again die along with it.

And then we are too far gone.

But tonight we both know exactly what it is we’re doing.

She arrives at 7p.m.
And I know she brings a knife.

…and my mouth waters.

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My past is a wolf tied to an old oak out back. Emaciated and starving.

And it knows shes here….

It’s senses are now just as sharp and desperate as its fangs and I can hear it howling from the garden. It knows when she shivers in the middle of the night, and the hunger digs through its body relentlessly.
Occasionally,  I sneak out and feed its hollowed body – just enough to keep it alive. But my hands have become raw, bloody and chewed. So I try my best to hide them under her body at night, but the flickering lights from the storm outside expose the blackened blood as evidence of all the things she does not deserve. All the things about me that would slowly disgrace her from the inside out.
At times, for our own wellbeing, I starve the wolf for weeks at a time, but its wimpers cut deep under my skin and it wakes me from a dead sleep. I watch the worn mutt suffer outside my window. Harrowed and weakening; I feel the same way.
I crawl back to my bed and I feel her quiver when my lips brush just below her ear, and I tell her that everything will be fine…
And I smile, because it feels good knowing that I can still cut it free from its ropes if I ever stop giving a fuck.

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“I miss you, too”

Only those words hardly reached me. They fell from her mouth and smashed on the ground like dinner plates from unsteady shelves and, similarly, all I felt was the residual regret of knowing that I now had quite a mess to clean up because she misunderstood me.

The words were,  “I misused you”
And what’s worse is that I intend on doing it again.

But this is where things begin to blur a little bit because her leg was wrapped around my waist like soft, porcelain hook I couldn’t seem to escape and I found that very disorientating. My left palm was on the small of her back pushing her into my abdomen and the other hand was hiding in the coils of her dark hair. Her hair was so impossibly long. I imagined her floating lifeless on top of the ocean with that hair dangling miles beneath her, beneath the waves and swaying so slowly in the water  like poison ribbons from a man-o-war. And I was swimming straight towards it.

I had a fistful of these dark, poison ribbons now in my right hand and I used it to direct her head inches from my face. I looked into her light blue eyes and all I could think is that they are not deep enough to drown in. Hardly enough to even splash around in temporarily- like a child. I craved the murky bottomless dark of brown eyes. Thats what I needed, a quiet place to drown. I brushed my thumb against her soft bottom lip like a fish hook and I turned and let her teeth sink into the back of my neck creating a vast wound. The type of wound that is not so easily compressed and soon, great rivers of dark red fluid began to fill up the entire club and all I could distinguish was arms,  so many arms moving in so many directions. Frantically snatching drinks from the bar and dragging them back to thier mouths like chameleon tongues.  Arms flailing about and tangled with other arms. Wrapped around bottles, wrapped around bodies,  wrapped around purses, pushed against bathroom stalls and shoved down throats. All I could see was hundreds of arms splashing around above the blood red tide issuing from me and great, bloody waves crashing over their heads, submerging them entirely and the coils of her poisonous hair covering the place, tangling and collecting bodies. Every-bodies body, but not mine. I could swim right through unharmed. And I remember that feeling brought me so much dread,  as all I wanted was to die silently in those ribbons but for some forsaken reason I was unaffected and I used it all to my advantage like a clownfish living momentarily in anemone.

I used every piece of her body. Every strand of her hair and every drop of her blood and I swam away and left her floating lifeless on top of the ocean.

Collecting bodies.

Every-bodies body but mine.

I need to find a quiet place to drown.

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