Silence

Butterfly’s kisses against cold skin, raindrops falling, falling, falling, suspended in air now as you stop. Go on, go on, leave and forget about me.

Brown irises dilate with a feral mix of fear and excitement – suffering, but enjoying it all the while. Toss me down the staircase, allow rotten flesh to snap my neck backward. Pull my hair and let futile cries rip the silence of the air, and let those same butterflies crumple their wings and fall.

Tired, so tired.

Salt tracing its path down my cheeks, a vulnerability unknown to all but you, and now it’s over. A pink tongue reaches for a teardrop, and it’s caught in my throat now, becoming one with the words I once swallowed. You sigh, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I’ve ever known what to do.

Ripped, thrown, torn apart, and I don’t know anymore. Never have, never will. Tremors crawling down my spine, white hot sparks across my field of vision, but there is no anger – only sadness, sadness, more sadness, and a sick, pitiful need for you and your embrace and your warmth and your words and your reassurance.

Eyes close, tears pool.

I’m still not okay.