Prose

i think i just wrote about you

Slip into unconscious spells with pink smeared across your cherry puckered lips. Salt makes you bloated so you spat out the streams of tears that touched your teeth. Love isn't real, it broke your mother to pieces. But you tried and there you are, there you are.
You haven't seen a church pew in years. You're afraid the steps will burn you alive. The sun won't shine on you anymore; it's embarrassed. Your hair hasn't been combed in centuries and your pillow wears it better than your head ever did. As if you slept since you turned fourteen and blood stained your thighs every third but you couldn't be bothered.
Swallow the lumps of regret and distaste and wash it down with sweet gasoline and set fire to your soul; it was reduced to ashes four years ago anyway. He told you he would be there, and, lo and behold, he is. But you realized you would rather be anywhere else. His fingertips are on your thighs and you wish you hadn't run those miles so he couldn't feel your bones. He was your sweet sugar, Tupelo honey boy. But now he's vomit that you keep swallowing because you've missed enough days of school eating stale cereal in your room.
You haven't cried in months but your father's voice on the phone line is drowning you. You can't speak to your friends out of fear, pure fear that you're the subject of rampant jokes. This was one night, Tuesday, in fact, and you've never looked in the mirror and seen a pretty girl since.
You won't be clean until you're dry. And you won't be dry until you stop calling him every fourth to tell him you just need five more minutes to put on your lipstick. Until then, you will drown.

February 8, 2015 1:14am