Staring at him stung. Smearing his soul with mine only sweetened my limbic system. This pure ecstasy was beyond sexuality, it was insanity. He was at our kitchen sink washing dishes, and I handed him my empty coffee mug from breakfast. His breathing was smooth like the beating rain as I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, my heart is full. Looking at him only hurt because I was about to kill him.
The first time that I met him we were lost in a sea of sheets. He made my heart sink, and my mind float. Though my two foremost elements were in two different places, we still sat at the dinner table together. My lover had destroyed me, so I knew that I had to murder him.
Nine hundred and twelve days led to this impeccable moment. Blood trickled down his neck as my cleanest and sharpest knife was in contact with his flawless skin. The euphoric feeling as he struggled for breath is indescribable. I have a deeper affection for a brawl rather than watching a lover purr so innocently. I was not new to this. I have done this eight other times to be exact.
All my lovers were unique in their own ways. But they did have one thing in common, they were all shades of blue, and they all ended in the same shade of red. Though all my past relationships at a point were very deep and dark hues, they also had warm tones. Since they all had erratic changes in their appearance, I allowed them to feel special and loved.
How is it possible to allow pity or passion for a being that squashes, squeezes, and suppresses your existence? They only ever pulverized my passion. They gutted my insides, but I always appeared whole. But actually, being whole became a mystery. My devotees turned me into dirt, when I was once mountains. I became lava, when I was once a volcano. I am only flour, when I was once a full cake. I was a flower ready to bloom, but my lovers became droughts that never left my mind.
I granted my lovers into the deepest bones of my soul. I let them all in. They stood by me for my worst, best, and most intimate moments. My lovers slept next to me all day, and stayed up with my insomnia all night. They ate every meal with me, and they also starved with me. My followers ran miles with me, and they even screamed in the silence while no one else heard me. They even showered with me, and they even stood next to me when I neglected my hygiene. So, I guess you could say I became close to each and every one of my lovers, and that’s how you allow someone to feel special and loved.
Of course, becoming close, my devotees have taught me things. They are the ones who showed me to sleep all day, and how to become a parasite to my mattress. My lovers taught me to starve, because it would be much better to stay in bed all day. My followers ran miles in my mind, and that’s where we screamed together, because my lovers always said “you never want to become a burden on anybody else, so let’s stay in bed today.” My lovers taught me that showering and brushing my teeth isn’t essential, when you’re just going to lay in bed all day. My lovers showed me how black out curtains are the best form of sunscreen. I’ve stayed nights in with my lovers, while my friend’s feet rotated on vodka soaked dance floors. My lovers reassured me, that everything is okay.
But it wasn’t okay. I want my heart to come up from the soil, and for my mind to come back down from space. I want my two foremost elements to shake hands again. I want to become a mountain, a volcano, and a full cake. I want to run miles on the pavement, and not in my head. I want to rebel and lay on the coast of the golf with no sunscreen at all. I want my feet to rotate on vodka soaked dance floors. I have now killed all my lovers. I don’t feel an ounce of remorse, now that my mind is drought-less. Because this time, I am a flower re-blooming. And how insane would it be if my lovers were real men, and not just my depression.
