Complicated Like That

Pain

She's in pain.

That's actually an understatement - her soul is in pain.

She sits alone in her dark and cold room, as always. Maybe it's symbolic of how no matter what life plays out for her, somehow she's always back here alone and in the darkness.

She feels exhausted despite not actually doing much the whole day. Her body has aches and pains as if the world he was carrying has finally become overbearing on her shoulders. Her neck is pulled, nights of tossing and turning certainly does a number on you and it doesn't help that she still carries her head high when all she really wants to do is breakdown and cry. She has cried enough, more than enough actually. But the pain her soul is in doesn't allow for such a humane, simple comfort to ease it by any means. She's even cried in her prayers, desperate soft sobs to the Almighty in hopes that He would end her suffering, if not, gift her with profound strength to endure her tormentful life. Her skin is harsh, rough and dry. Somehow she's convinced herself that his touch, and his touch alone, would be able to smooth out her skin and soothe her into the peaceful sleep she longs for.

She is wrong.

And yet, no amount of logic can argue with her.

She yearns to feel the warmth of his body as she collapses on top of him and breathes deeply like his very essence is her life source. She wants to feel his fingers run in her hair as he whispers all the things she only dreams about into her ear. She wants his kiss to ignite her with the passion of long lost lovers who finally reunited. She wants his large hands to explore the vast area of her skin, as she sinks her being into all of him that she so desperately wants and cannot have.

Disappointment fills her as she opens her eyes to a vaguely lit room, alone; with all her duvets messed up and draped on her body the way she wants the man to be.

She sighs, it was an emotionally long day. Cigarette smoke lightly caresses the air in her room. On the side of her bed, she sees a lone blade drenched in blood and remnants of the tissue she used to clean her messed scattered alongside it. All have served their purpose and yet, here she is, longing for another release.

A very different type of release.

She wants his hands on her back while his mouth bites her neck. She wants for her soft moans to accompany that smoke laced air. Her clothes scattered around her room like the pieces of tissue and his body so close to hers that even couldn't pass through. Back arched in anticipation as he lowers his mouth on her body, her fingers lost in his hair while she barely whispers to him to stop with the teasing. She wants to gaze into his dilated, hungry eyes before he takes off his shirt and presses his body into hers. She wants to plant soft kisses onto his shoulders and neck as he breathes heavily into her ear, pushing all of his weight down and holding her tightly.

Well. another cigarette is just going to have to do for now ...