We said we'd die there, you and I...
Up until this point we were phone sex, and dirty text messages at three o' clock in the morning while I was getting off of work. You were a sexy video I'd m********* to in the employee bathroom, while I was your webcam c*** when I got home. We treasured those moments like handed down rosaries. Your heavy breathing and sweat coming through the phone, and my sticky fingers caressing keys, pretending I hadn't c** twice already, while your fingers were getting bored with their circular motions.
We loved it all, and yet even then, we wanted to die. Like everyday it came with the rising sun, the poptarts, and toaster streudal, and the school buses around the corner. In part, our romance was forbidden...for reason I shalln't say, for in the end it mattered not, and since the begginning, I never cared. It was all just where we were, and what we were doing, and maybe what bonded us which was that we were sick of living.
You bled through my computer screen, and I tried not be a******. I hid my e******* when you cried, and bashed your head on hard backgrounds, while tightening my collar, choking myself indiscrimenately, dying and c****** to the sadness that fell elegantly from your eyes. Your voice like a child calling out, saying stupid things. Saying love, forever, and someday, and all I could say was, "It would be different if..." The only promise I could make was a circumstancial time shift. Another life that never was, that couldn't be with this one. A time where we may never meet, but if we could, in that time, I could grow to love you. You'd cut and blood some more.
Daily, I'd check your myspace status updates, worried if too much time had passed without some pining, or written recognition of the pain I had caused. Ignoring you, unfriending you, but finding you again. Years had passed, and there you were. Beautiful, and deadly to me all the same. My dirty text message. My pornographic video empowered. Hard life and whirlwind romances blanketing you in scars I neither recognized, nor influenced. You call me, and your voice like a child does say, "Can we die now?" I swoon and sigh.
I catch a bus, and you a cab to meet me. Thousands of miles later we're touching for the first time. I smell your hair as you rest on my arm. I smell your juices, fresh on my fingers after fondling you vigorously while you bit into my flesh. I smell your breath, and wonder how long we'll survive off bottled water and chex mix...but this trip isn't about living.
We arrive, and you speak of dancing. The light change you, the smells make you laugh. The people have you captivated, and your face is full of light, and love. I've saved you from your misery. I've pulled you away, yet when we're alone it changes.
The silhouettes of what we could afford are grey, and not so dark. Our kisses are wet, and salty from tears, and c** we've both drank. Our touch is pastey. Our eyes are sad...and it seems I'm bleeding from where you've stabbed me...and you're screaming from something I'd have never done if you'd just left the knife on the bed.
Promises are meant for keeping. Without words we are nothing. Through your sad eyes, you saw me say, through choking whispers, e**** and a******. I tried healing you with these words...
"I'll die with you. So you can't kill yourself yet...this way neither of us has to go alone...we'll go to Paris...we'll get a room, we'll see the Eiffle Tower, and run through the Louvre. We'll f***, and make love...and we'll die together. So we don't have to do it alone...okay?"
Our hands touched from miles away, and they never touched like that again until now. Miles away, we drift on this floor in our blood we spilt, in our tears we cried. Soaked in c** and sweat. Blanketed in sadness. We're together, just like we said. Just like we promised. Here we are, together...
and miles away.
Silver Moon Poetry
Poetry is what gets lost in translation ~Robert Frost~