You

Photograph by Carly Lewis

I love you. And you’re all over my walls. Dark, dripping, biting. This right-angled bludgeoner, covered in you. You trickle downward to the head, form a droplet, and fall to the floor. Drip into your own massacred eye sockets. Can’t you see how much I love you? This deep red romance. Not that Romeo and Juliet bullshit. This is true passion.

Twitch. Your face. It’s become a momentary fountain. Crimson shower from the part of your face, unrecognizable now, that provides the lungs with oxygen when your mouth is closed. Not needed now. Your mouth is a cesspool. A crater of deep, red, liquid quietus. You will be forever quiet. Will never be able to speak those words again. But they will forever revolve inside me. A permanent stain of genuine ardor.

Emotion lifts me. My hand, now slightly sticky with your drying ichor, gripping the handle of my expression, plunges toward your left shoulder. The sound of delicate flesh tearing. An explosion of anatomical undesign. Smite laceration. I can see inside of you. I pry your flesh from bone. Slowly, tenderly. I see your heart. Still beating. Still beating. Now pouring…

love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love

I can barely breathe now. You are not breathing now. Mashed mess of flesh and broken bone encompassed by a deep pool of your own scarlet life.

Lifelessness. All that is distinguishable? Your motionless, trickling love. I have finally seen your true heart. Stop. I am alive.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
– Sonnet 73

January 14, 2010 Blueprint Web Administrator No Comments

Share Your Thoughts

Leave a Reply