By Elizabeth Board
My body pines away beneath the ever changing skyline. Your hands twine softly across the cool flesh in mid decay. You hear my words as they softly ooze from my mouth, but you don't take their meaning to heart. You never let them hit on your soft blurry brain. You'll never confess volumes to me in the wee hours of the day as we're spread out in pieces across the lawn. Take my breathy confessions to mean something. Hold onto them like the last final charm of a long lost loved ones bracelet. Separation beads like sweat on each of our brows and each time we come close I beg for some sort of physicality to our words. I've been shredded indefinitely and you and your sewing kit will take to piecing me back together. I beg to feel your hands prying my skin apart and stitching it back together with thread made of your own veins. I want your blood to pump through me and nurture me, so I can poison someone other than myself. Infatuation cannot be the right word for what we have. Each word falls with dissonance and I can hear the shock in your breath. My hands make their way brushing across your flesh and tracing individual scars. This is so careless of me, so uncalculated, so sloppy. I promise I'm not like this, I promise I'm not this destroyed. I can fight and fuck along with the best of them but for now I just need you to hold me. I need gentle hands on a rigid body. I've been thinking since my eyes reopened and as always, it's about you. The way you see me is not the way I am. I can run my nails along your back and leave beautiful marks, claiming you as mine till we meet again. I'm just as feisty as any girl, but my personality is always cold. I want to claw at the walls with you inside me and rip your shoulders with my teeth. I want violence and love and passion and everything I've never gotten all at once. All I really want is for you to lean over me and whisper "I love you." This is how much of a fucking cliché I've become.