Be in the Stars

Bitter Passion and Lost Soul.

Sometimes all it takes is a single breath of “I love you,” ready on their lips, after you’ve done a day of work together but not said a word, even though you were constantly talking.

It’s like being in someone else’s skin, you see it all with your own eyes but all the actions, they aren’t quite yours.

It’s automatic now, I’ve learnt to stop smelling the reeling stench that is a little bit distracting. I’ve learnt to use pain as reinforcement, you’re doing it right, keep going. Nothing was ever so complicated, yet so simple.

It’s like opening a book that as a child you watched your parents read and thought it was a secret, but you hold it now, and you only see how boring it all was.

Things will drift past me sometimes, a current of air, whistling over my tongue while I hold the thickness of these things, tightly in my limbs. It’s always the same yet different, the way I handle them.

They call me a diamond. But they can’t see the ones I cry out of my tear ducts. They’re spending all of my worth even though they drop their notes of paper on my pillow as if poems they thought of writing to someone else.

My feet are too small, they’re also rough. I want to wear my woolly socks instead of the bits of patent that have no time for breaking in.

Despite my use of nakedness, of raw animalistic energy that seems confident, I still stand on a square of plastic watching the numbers drop in excitement. I shouldn’t want the loss, but in a way it’s all I’ve ever gained.

Then I follow in the regretful tired step and slightly darker shadow than the one that surrounds them, in our hotel of wicked sins. My hands are strong and ready, my mind is slowly turning back into its own troubling sequence of hope.

Tomorrow will be a different day, I can run away.

I’m rich now, but I save it, because no one is saving me, and it seems to be the only soul they give before falling limp in sheets made from stories of love and helpless girls who have lost their way like I have.   

I do it slowly, because I want them to struggle, I want the life they take from me, from others. I like it when they yell or fight back, it tells me they think I’m nothing, it makes my muscles twitch, my fingertips no longer a musicians typing away their midnight drunken blues.

I see my lover, his grin is never real, he is waiting behind a desk, watching haplessly and fascinated, we talked all day, but neither of us were there. I am done, my body is dressed in liquid red, a velvet only an experienced knight could pull off. I am a knight, because I carry a wrath of crazed impulses that I act on.

I need to keep them fresh, my lovely sack of heavy bones and a sickness needing sanitary. Once my companion and I are in the room, we start to take apart our unready food… throwing away expensive suits full of salt and blood.

We silently put the banker in our large freezer, and take out our accountant whose skin is now a solid blue and face as awe-inspired as a puppet in an attic.

I’ve done the real work and now I’m starting to feel hungry, my soul mate gets to cooking while I sneak away to throw up and make room for a weight I don’t want, but a food I’ve always craved.

I undress from my black little dress and silk stockings, the chastity belt joining my knife and my hair being tied up into a bun.

I put on a night gown that hugs me and yet barely touches my yearning skin.

I then grab my knife again. I’ve had enough of being with someone, he offers nothing but a muddled mind and skills in the kitchen that a chief has.

But I don’t suspect he has similar plans to me and while I turn on my heal I remember I’m always a victim and although I flop around in his arms, one hand taking my life and the other stroking my head, he doesn’t seem to stop.

It only ever takes a whisper of “I love you,” for me to forget the monster that we all are, what does he love, why? But all I take in is that I’m not the worst person even as he murders me, I’m something better than another because I’ve been blessed with the words he spoke.

I know I’m gone but I still hear his echo, I still hold those words.

“I love you too,” I choke out. Maybe he is my saviour and the death bed my throne.