Necrophilia

“The world could end today.” He stated matter-of-factly.

He rolled onto his left side on the blue and white striped sheets to face her. The bed squeaked in protest. She did not acknowledge it. She stared a vacant stare; she was off in wonderland.He reached his hand up slowly and lightly touched her hair. Maybe just maybe the slight vibration would penetrate her skull and tickle her brain drawing her back to him.

Her eyelids closed and when they opened she was back. She squinted her eyes a tad bit like she usually did when she was focusing really hard on something. Her face was smooth no creases although her lips were pursed as if ready to lay a kiss on his forehead. He knew every crease. Every curve and flavor for he had adventured it late at nights and early in the mornings on filthy corners and even in puny closets that by no means diminished it’s sweet ambrosial taste.

“The world has been over for a while now,” She whispered almost like a sigh. “I was there  eyes wide with innocence. Mind utterly unprepared. The world has been over for a while now,” she let the silence sit,  “I remember…. I was there.”

He hated when she said things like that. It was like she was teasing him with all the dark corners of her soul she had put in vaults and didn’t want to share. It unsettled him. Her darkness unsettled him. He nestled closer to her an automatic reflex after months of this routine. He knew that asking wouldn’t make a difference. She would simply withdraw from him an armadillo into the shell that was her mind. Eyes vacant, body cold, he didn’t like to be with a zombie.

She was still a little warm from the last half an hour. She wrapped her arm around him and nestled deep into his hairless chest. She pressed her body against him almost painfully. It felt to him as if she was trying to drown in him. She’d rather be in him than out of her mind alone. She just didn’t want to be alone, even if she was just a zombie. How did he fall in love with a zombie?

He lay on his back and she automatically rearranged herself deeper into him. He stared at the filthy white ceiling. Nothing had changed it was still rough. No matter how many times he looked and wished he were somewhere else staring at something else it was always rough. He squeezed his eyes and tried a little harder. It was still rough. He was stuck just him his bed and the filthy rough white ceiling. She kissed him softly on his chest blurring his thoughts. He loved the sensation, a slight distraction from the roughness.

How did he fall in love with a zombie? He never thought she was. He remembers a park bench, laughter so deep it rocked her body, and he never realized it didn’t reach her eyes until they finally lay down. And he lay on his back watching the rough white ceiling. He loved her no matter how many times he stared up wondering what demons she had locked down deep inside her; what demons took her away from him even as they shared heat; what demons she thought were to heavy too share with him; what demons made her a zombie? He knew her too well to even ask. He squeezed his eyes again and opened them to the same filthy white.

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Where the Dead Things Are

Silence beats at your ears and it bleeds
because you know your screams can never be as loud as your silence
in telling your tale of where the dead things are.

The dead do not weep.
So of course your soul is bleak
and stares out of hollow eyes
informing me
that your glitter hides corpses that reek
of self pity and self hate
because lets face it
you were never strong enough to love yourself
especially if society had a hand in it
labeling you and us all
to be nicely packed and shelved
but you know and I know that displays are just that,
DISPLAYS.
It’s all a front; a big fake
cuz we know deep inside where the dead things are.

Inside there is no need to hide
no need to lie
about who we are or what we want
so we nurse our inner diva
but it remains just that a secret
out of fear of crucifixion
of public conviction
that we are not;
smart enough, rich enough, beautiful enough, Or even well connected enough
so we stifle our dreams
deep inside us
out of fear for persecution
we kill our own hopes
murder our own dreams
before they have a chance to
bud- farless a chance to bloom
our chances have been doomed
so our insides become graveyards
paying everlasting tribute to what could’ve been.
So these graveyards we neglect
in frail attempt to avoid spiraling into regret
and spiraling even deeper into despair.
We never want to visit where the dead things are.
We never want to face our deaths.

 

February Lovers the Essay


“February Lovers”
For shame
they say that lovers
are blind, but we
only choose to see each other.
The warmth of your ___ is what smothers
me and causes the
cold heat of February lovers.
If only we were 
still ignorant as
when we were
babes just months ago with our rebirth.
As you were born
and I were born
on this grand day
known as the -anniversary.
It is not my fault
that I am so selfish
you have given me your
 all
and I have never had to share
so why should I start now
I would cry as you would cry
lack of normality and my soul leaks it’s blood
through my eyes
I bleed for you. (February 2008)

We trudge along the cold streets of Brooklyn, NY hands intertwined. We have dated for a little over a year and are now high school freshmen. Separate schools cannot keep us apart. Tuesdays and Thursdays we leave our homes early and meet at the train station near my school. It is February in New York and it is probably twenty or below. My fingernails are purple but he is here and I am warm.

We clasp hands and I shove them into his pocket. His hands were and still are double the size of mine. They are rough and could probably palm my head but in my hands they are pliable; soft, warm; they are protective; they are supportive. We troop through the Jewish neighborhood, past their kosher stores and beautiful two story homes and well-manicured lawns, but their beauty is easily ignored for we are deep in conversation. We converse about life, where we want to be, who we have been, philosophy, morals, jokes, videos. We share almost every thought and ask almost every question. We are peeling off each other’s soul skins and digging our teeth into the rich fruit beneath. We are devouring each other’s very essence.

We have talked for what seemed like an eternity if an eternity was twenty minutes. My school looms in the distance and we are quickly approaching it. Footsteps get weary and my chest tightens. I will not see him for another day. We reach the bus stop, thankfully it is right in front of my school doors. We wait, still in animated chatter accessorized with pokes and sometimes squeezes of the hand.  The bus is across the street and now our conversation is rushed trying to wrap the latest topic of discussion up. “Goodbyes”, “I love you’s” and “have a good days” roll off our tongues without a second thought, with ease. Another squeeze of the hand, a hug and he is gone I must face another day alone.

If you had asked me in February of 2005 if I would ever walk for blocks in the blistering cold just for some witty conversation with him I would have looked at you as if you were on cocaine. It is amazing to see the difference a year makes. The weeks go by but our ritual does not change. Snow disappears, as do the blistering winds. The gray streets of New York come to life. We are no longer lonely lovers stealing secret moment. Trees begin to flower, the morning joggers creep out from their winter caves and we have witnessed the change. The heat starts to creep in and some mornings he bring me breakfast from home, eggs, pancakes, bagels with cheese. He nourishes me body and soul through the winter and the cold.

It is our first college Christmas vacation and I am strewn over his couch head on his chest and he is breathing.  It is the single most relaxing sound I have ever heard. Like a lullaby it soothes my soul. My usually tense muscles relax and my defensive layers melt away. I have always told him that he smells like home and that has not changed. He draws circles in my palms and I listen to him breath. The television is on but the time together is more valuable than all the gold in the world. Soon our responsibilities to our families and ourselves will rip us apart but for now we are perfectly content ignoring the world. The tv is mute I am too busy listening to his heartbeat strum to pay attention to the words. His body sings a song to me and mine dances to it. The strumming of his heart has harmonized with his breathing to hypnotize me completely. I have no other option. He is mine and I am his.

We trudge along the bitter streets of Manhattan souls intertwined. We have dated for a little over five years and are now college freshmen. Separate schools cannot separate us. We have walked for what seems like a lifetime. The Megabus looms in the distance an omen predicting the lonely weeks that are to come. He waits in line with me patiently, patiently pretending in pleasant denial that we will board the same bus to the same destination. We play pretend as we bathe in each other’s essence. We kiss, tainting each other’s souls enough to last ‘til next we meet. I sit and exhale and watch him go through the window and reluctantly realize I must face the next few months alone.

If you had asked me in February of 2011 if I’d ever imagine standing in the blistering cold waiting for a bus to leave him I would have laughed in disbelief. It is appalling to see the difference a year makes. The weeks go by but our ritual does not change; he is the first person to text me when I wake up; the last person to text me before I go to sleep. Snow disappears, and the blistering winds of Connecticut ease slightly. We are lonely lovers now more than ever, imprisoned by distance but nourished by hope. Trees begin to blossom and so does the knowledge that I will soon know the blessing of his warmth daily. We both can sense the change as hope creeps in with the heat, painting everyday as a day less to wait. He fortifies me when I am close to breaking. He nourishes me mind and soul through the winter and the blistering cold.

It is February 2012 and he is miles away. College has placed him away in Philadelphia- no more morning walks in the cold. No more fingers intertwined despite the blistering winds. But I still love him and he is mine. We talk through android phones minds intertwined. Morning walks have been replaced with morning calls.  Text messages and video chats allow our rituals to survive.  Deep conversations and declarations of love have not faded with the years as with many other couples. “You are young,” they all said “you won’t make it through high school.” Didn’t we prove them wrong? “You are young,” they still say “You won’t make it through 
college,” don’t we intent to prove them wrong?

-Revised

The Moon is Out Tonight


We are lover under the moon,
for no matter where we are
we share the same view.
But tonight we share that view
as two;
you behind me
and me on you.
We stare up in admiration
at what we will never have
but you in the shadow
grasp at what is now.
I feel heat on my neck
as your tongue presses
and is soon followed by your lips
and you pull me close
as we hide in the shadow
caressing the darkness
of passion within our souls
and soon we are face to face
our lips pressed in an explosion of blissful pain
knowing that we may never share
this view as two again.

You open up to me
and my tongue slides in…
searching for some truth
in you that you love me.
But in all my haste
I have gotten lost in the heat
and you have trapped me
and refuse to let me go.
We battle,
me digging deep
and you holding tight,
as you rise
and time flies
but all I find is lies
and that your arms are not mine
and your heart beat although I feel it
it does not synchronize with mine.
You pull down my shirt and expose me to the stars
searching for sweet nectar
but you are not a god.
You pull and I collapse
for our dance has fatigued me.
This tango of wanting
but knowing that I shouldn’t have
and shouldn’t take.

The moon is out tonight
and so are we.
Lips swollen from heat-
bodies hotter than solar flares-
souls laid bare-
tongues fully tasted-
moonlight exploited!
The moon is out tonight
and we are no more.

Deadly Kisses


Lip
against lip
press tightly
and slowly creep to meet mine
mutually dying
to feel silky sweet
against silky sweet
They gently part
it’s a true art
both beautiful and dark
Lips against lips

Lips against lips
emotions peak
tongue slips
and the truth it’s head peaks
out from the soul
fully exposed
there’s no truth that lips
don’t unfold

Lips
dead against mine
I can feel his pain
clawing at my mind
there is no heat
there is no pull
it is static
it is crude
no matter how hard you bury
or how hard you hide
there is no truth
from your lips I can’t pry.

Saying Goodbye


No matter how hard you fight
every game of pretend
must come to an end
together forever
together til the end
well who would have thought
the end would be so near
I stand there watching silently
as you pack all your emotional things
memories are folded nice and square
every moment when we laid our souls bare

No matter how hard we fought
we knew that playing pretend
would never end well
well here we are
you on the other side of the door
tears choke out of my throat
as I hold the door
not sure if it I want to close
saying goodbye isn’t easy
saying goodbye isn’t fun
but it’s time to say goodbye
so I shut the door.

I lean back against the door
cuz I can’t support myself
It’s hard to face reality
when all you’ve done is pretend
My body slides down
as my tears cascade
my defenses crumble
but I have no strength to pray
In all honesty
I never thought reality would be so hard
I’d just like to lay here dead and play pretend.

-inspired by song Remember When- by Avril Lavigne

Death’s kiss


Two lovers meet
cold lips against cold lips
they synchronize souls and into each other they dip…
two lovers meet on the other side of the fence
his bony fingers and hers intertwine
wrapped and wrapped in embalming twine
two lovers greet and become one
body above body
cold and sweet
insects creep
emotions peak
lovers and death’s kiss
two lovers meet
a little too late
their bodies have had time to deteriorate
lovers lovers buried deep
an unfortunate tale
of a love that could’ve been sweet
two lovers cross paths and never said a word
now they lay dead
what their love could’ve been they’ll never know