my blood rises to the surface, basks in her presence, makes me dizzy in its hubris.
i think of her one last time and how she was too soft; too soft and yet brittle and harsh and alarming. i think of her body, her blackened fingernails and her open wounds.
i hate her for what she did to me and i love her for what she prevented.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
you stand, all slack-jawed, pressing down on my cavities like a gas mask. i am sick, frail and withered, heaving and choking up mothballs. i can feel this illness in all of my orifices; you are displaying decay in real time.
my evil leaks out and drips onto your jeans.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
i bound broken bones together in silence as to not disturb her sleeping, crunching adderall between my teeth and swallowing the paste with apple juice.
i have been supporting this weight all my life; she melts into me like she's partly at fault.
i bleed and she bleeds with me like it’s voluntary. she never cried, just dug her nails into the palms of my hands and bore the weight.
there is nothing i can do to fix this, nothing that isn't disgusting and fatal.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
i trace your veins with fragile fingers, stopping where they split and kissing the skin. i pay extra attention to your pericardial cavity and breathe in the scent.
i imagine myself nestled in your organs, flush against your trembling heart and your ribcage. i assure you that i won't bite, not with my words but the rhythm of my breathing.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
i swear that i'm gentle, i swear my skin is thin and i swear i'm being honest.
if i had the chance, i would tell her how it took me years to get used to another pair of blue eyes. i would tell her i see her face everywhere.
she is harrowed, cut open with glass, insulation spilling out of her guts just like her basement walls. i can see myself now, standing in front of her, skin glistening like vaseline.
the rot collects under my fingernails; the smell clings to everything in the room. i feel my body warping in two different directions, not knowing the difference between a variable and weaponized incontinence.
i speak so quietly she can barely hear, “see? i can be soft too, i swear i can be soft too!"
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
i wait through crying. i wait idly, as your knees kiss my carpet ever so softly. i wait for the deafening sound of your hands against my ears to stop the ringing.
everything goes silent again.
through all of this, my ghost remains sanguine; he watches my carcass with longing.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
i'm twisting through this harshness in all my bare-brained glory. i’m throbbing on this curb; i know you probably think i am dying on this hill.
you’ve set everything into motion. it spreads like an outbreak; you can find love in even the most disgusting places. the sound fractures like light, a splintering, a prism of ignorance.
you press your body up against my lips and i press back harder.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
it’s a sad morning, but only i know it. i bleed under the morning light and nobody notices. i look for cigarettes and realize we smoked them all.
the bodies in this place are still. i rouse myself from the couch and look at the people passed out on the other side of it, on the floor, in the kitchen.
i try to remember what their names were and i can’t. i think of how i want to take a picture. the carpet sways, our legs suffocating, i feel my pupils return to normal.
my shirt clings to my back; the stench of 23 years lingers on me like a disease.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
i wake with my head on the floor, but this time it's my own. she asks me if she was too loud getting dressed. i lie. i'm just thinking about the muscles of her back, the worry-lines, her nicotine habit.
she is unrecognizable now, but it's my fault; her skin is callused and bleeding in all of the places my teeth broke through.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
How can I be king of the world? Because I am king of rubbish. And rubbish is what the world is made of. — Kate DiCamillo, The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane
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