This is how their Satan whispers
Like willful death they creep in forms of sound waves
husky voices in the darkness
This is how their Satan whispers
Like willful death they creep in forms of sound waves
husky voices in the darkness
That morning she didn’t expect to wake. In fact she’d planned to never awake again. It was sunny, her head hurt a little, but apart from the head hurt, it didn’t feel like much of a failed suicide attempt.
Her food was cold when she got around to eating it; to her surprise her appetite had made an unexpected reappearance. She enjoyed every bite, and things seemed to be better. She mused that perhaps all it took was the bravity of facing her own mortality without fear… it was only after she had cleared her plate that she decided to get up and face the day.
Her phone rang as she was about to open the door. Luckily she hadn’t, because her mother’s worried voice echoed as she listened, not able to coherently respond to the rehearsed delivery of bad news.
It was meant to be her death, instead… the other got it right.
That other with the brown eyes and childish smile.
The other with her favorite lips pasted on almost perfectly… that other… no longer existed.
Suddenly the tasty food re exited without warning and her head threw her almost instantly in her own vomit. She was waiting for tears, or a heart attack or something that was other than the empty vessel she now related to.
The other … memory.
The girl in room 3 had no pills left to drown her life in and bleeding out would take too long.
The girl in room 3 buried both herself and the other that instant. She cut out the struggles and with a new clarity she realized it would have been better to breathe before saying goodbye.
Today is my last day
I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago
then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now
I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors
There is a headline,
wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched
I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:
One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core
Two: I learned how to live with being a liar
Three: I came as a foreign being full of love
Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters
Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story
Six: I inherited the art
Seven: I will never forget
I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope
3 months before they expected me I was ready
13 years before I was
The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty
I obeyed my longing eyes
past the dioors and my goodbye suit
I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why
One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me
Two: It wasn’t always sunny
Three: How to fake the smile through heartache
Four: How to cause the same
Five: My clothes are cheap
Six: I am unworthy
Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges
So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv
and on the top right hand corner of the screen
A phrase in white paint screams out at me
One: My skin colour murdered my first love
Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes
Three: My father Died of a broken heart
Four: You saved mine
Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences
Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica
Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.
Palm on palm now
My eye lids find their space
No tears left in me
My heritage day is eternal
and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!
She calls me “love” like I have her home beneath my skin – like my veins are somewhere she could crawl up into and never leave. I call her “beautiful” like she has gold dust beneath her fingernails – like everything she’ll come to touch cannot remain as it was. But she will remain. She will stay. She will say she is homesick and I’ll know that she wants to be kissed gently like “Will you sit with me for a while? Will you hold my hand like it’s only you that’s keeping me from falling apart?” So I welcome her lips and her fingers like I’m opening the door.
I adore her.
I don’t know if my skin is good enough for her to live in. There are marks on the walls and stains from other lovers and if you run your fingers along certain parts you’ll find dust…
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She is learning how to be grateful.
The steps are small, barely noticeable as the world calls and keeps on… There is not much to protest against, though the monsters in her head growl in a constant chorus of unfortunate beginnings and endings.
Nothing ever really ends where there are memories involved, and doubt is a frozen statue, alive enough to keep haunting her and misleading her… it wants to be a pillar and all she really wants is for it to disappear.
It is cold.
Her teeth speak their own unknown language as the piercing breaths let out their steam and she knows she is alive and alove. Perhaps alove is the problem, the threatening to word alove out her mind and into the hearing range of that other…she is so alove it hurts, it wobbles her walls and her frozen castle begins to melt, but it is cold…
She smiles unintentionally. There is a face, there are hands and lips and traces of traced bodies in subtle nights without beginnings and without reservations… or were there reservations? She wears a scarf
It is cold.
So alive and alove she waits… she anticipates the return of her strength which is barely a word away. She imagines being sucked into that warm embrace and the doubt disappears. Her breath becomes natural and it lightens up like the darkness in her eyes as it begins to fill up with light.
She knows that this is it, that this is visible for the first time and once a problem is shown, it is also known, thus becoming an advisor rather than a nightmare.
It begins to change her perspective and she begins to understand… that warmth is not only a touch… it is a letter, it is a name and comforting kiss… It is hearing how much you’ve been missed and out of nowhere – a sun appears; though
It is still cold.
They swirl down the forests of our demons
Mine in priest cloaks
Yours possibly in the nude
with the thump thumps of your being
indicating all this as a prelude
A preface to humming beat stories
almost soft and almost
just almost permanent
You stand disrobed all boyant
in your cool kid attire
and in hindsight
oh you are my hindsight
Unwilling as I am to step forward
My palms,as rough as they might be,they feel you slipping through
to golden, sparkly aroma
These high wells
have high walls
each tear a brick
and with every lesson more slippery
Don’t you stay at the bottom
scratch yourself onto my stone
stay imprinted and forgive me
Forgive that I refuse to unsee you
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Dear my inspiration
My every bit hurts right down to my toes
My calves clench and remind me I’m alive
Alive after all
The sandpaper feeling beneath my eyelids
Enhanced by images only available for reflection
Becomes the choir prelude to tenors of moments
Expressed by the watery wells that move swiftly between
Darling of literary caprice
You move my electricity
And my fingers like mindless puppets follow
They paint with words the uninvited
Haunt me not only for this passing time
I ask that you move in to me permanently
I ask that you turn my carefully arranged persona to chaos
Discover me again
So that I may fall in love with you
Get lost in your black hole of stories
And until eternity exists
Live heart beats
Hear souls sing
Write living memories
I.G. DIDOVA 07/03/2012 12:01PM
GENTLING A WILDCAT (AGAIN)
My head hurts
I am irritable, sweaty and jittery.
I have been stuck on the same sentence for what seems like a week, but still no word fits…
Giving my tired, short-haired head a rest on the palm of my hand, glancing at the tiny arrangement beneath my window; the continuation to the problematic phrase sneaks up on me in the form of a floating sapphire while the little blue box with its lid opened on the ‘Tuesday’ section reminds me that I am safe from hallucinations as the pill had been consumed shortly after dinner. Instinctively my head returns to its previous position in order to confirm the floating gem between the branches…
I give out a nanus-sized giggle as the single stone seems to have undergone a sort of transfiguration; it is now accompanied by what seems to be its twin and as a pair they have been pasted onto a leopard patterned body.
My world becomes a vortex of memories projected through the eyes of a cat whilst the last sound before the thriller is my voice repeating the phrase over and over… until the world is calm again and the filigrees of memories take the lead, like a mirage caused by the sudden dehydration in my mouth.
Prelude, is the word best used to describe the moment when she bursts into my flat furious… both of us knowing only one way to salvage the situation.
I can see it in her eyes.
The light of my living room arrogantly ridiculed the one in her sapphires. So much so that I am scared off and in doubt my lips know only to twist and coil in to a smile…that smile… her… smile.
This act in itself is something like a language that only the hunter and the hunted understand. Similar to a contract, signed, sealed and guaranteeing a collapse of murderous intentions, only to transform them into bittersweet gasps and insatiable shadows, switching position; momentarily being the prey and in a split second, rising again to feast on an expecting, welcoming lamb.
Our eyes meet, lock, and recognise each other realizing that the storm has finally reached its peak.
The following moments are to be a musical of thundering, feminine grunts, accompanied by an inconsistent back ground of whispers and gentle clawing soothed by a salty rain which magically seeps out from our pores; still fully clothed yet naked… those are the benefits of knowing a body that is not your own as well as Da Vinci knew the Mona Lisa.
These fragrances encompass the roots of our desire, as my half-naked anatomy stretches to an eerie length in order to turn bright, electric sparks into a grey-kitten dark; welcoming the rain with the moist odour of nibbling pain gentled by the fluffy fur of the moon-lit carpet where lion and lamb become glutinous due to the excess amount of yearning flesh on craving body. My icy fingertips run around her bare hip in torturous spirals, claiming ignorance with every brush against the pink; that same place they so intently dismiss.
“Ssssss” These are stolen moments.
Her snake-resembling movement is violently clawed to a halt with a clear nail grip on stuttering thighs and mischievous hips then pulled just close enough as if in surrender only to painfully be pushed away again.
I speak out through a cork tongue, “I was under the impression that we’re waiting for the rain.”
At that I approach with my waist between her impatient legs, providing a false hope of granting her antidote to this silent, overwhelming hysteria.
“Screw the rain!”
My hungry lips travel south with a continuous kiss, hurrying past a perfect chest, not paying much attention to all the rest either, and in god-like synchronization the rain drops mercifully begin to fall to the rhythm of those inspired by the fleshy sensation between our bodies; creating the first verse before our chorus: drip… drip… drip!
From walls to wind are dancing feet moving ever forward while her skin presently owns my embrace and me.
I walk behind her almost in a waltz; my palms covering her eyes, nipples cheeky and excited by the static created when skin rubs on skin;
this grass is dampened by the slow drizzles of rain and as our feet connect to the green beneath them the tickle prepares us of the flock of shower drops, so the gentle wind gives in and gradually stops.
My grip loosens and thus my hands are left to unnerve every curve, soft mindful and cautious as they leap in a water-like manner, where a downward current is magnetic.
My breathing becomes inconsistent, hers on the other hand is heavy and deep, almost as deep as my fingertips dryly moistening, diving in then out… in and out… in circular motions.
A moment is all it takes for gravity to wrap us in a blanket of soil, leaves, my lips on her collar bone… hands wandering, alone… just then; it is my virtue that she takes while in shaking intervals our souls levitate… like a pair of savage lionesses in an excruciatingly pleasurable brawl.
The moonlight pierces through the trees and falls like a spotlight onto the mistress, excluding me from the white even as my body moves in and out of the ray’s radius. Our movements are urgent now, they roam but fail to tease; I enter her as she enters me and then the rain speeds up in accordance, heart beating so fast that I can feel it pulsating in my throat.
With my lips to her ear I utter in a questioning whisper’
“What are you?”
“I am Katt’s mosquito bite…”
Her fingers slide out; they begin to impress with a mind-map precision the surface of my tenderness.
“Effervescent tickles and biting itches… if you rub me you’ll only make it worse, leave me wanting more”
I follow suit, waking a petite thrust before she continues the monologue in her spotlight.
“Bursts of pleasure are delighted in, only when you scratch the pinnacle of my swelling… I hide and reside erect in between your porous dwelling.”
My teeth sink in as I struggle to keep my trembling hand in place and moving.
“Hard to resist me isn’t it? Come on give it a little rub… but be careful you might want to rub me again, and again, and again.
My hand exits… leaving my jaw, lips and tongue in a free range of opportunity as they begin to kiss the inside of her thigh, still I listen careful not to miss so much as a whimper.
“I am Katt’s mosquito bite… that unsubtle tickling itch… scratch me a little bit…”
Taste buds can no longer resist the beautiful taste they know will be, and so they move in with that special kiss.
“Give it a little lick… Right… there. See how that feels. Kind of makes you wanna purr… making little silly sounds as you indulge your salivatory senses with my ambrosia.”
The tireless muscle residing in my mouth now vigorously inspects this tantalizing territory as it enters… then exits… then enters…
Her nails grip on to me as she passionately pulls down on my skin in an almost branding sort of manner.
“Making my pink cheeks swell up leaving you with red blemished racing down the spine of your arched torso”
She wipes a drop of blood and licks it off.
Irrevocably aroused, I feel the approaching burst and her raging ‘mosquito bite’ meekly agrees with me.
Lifting my chin out of harm’s way, she throws herself into my chest (teeth-first)… glides into me and continues the paired journey to our peak while her fingers circulate and pulsate… her mouth sucking on to me thirsting blood.
“I am drunk your sap and so must you suck mine…”
Synchronized yet again we race towards that sacred… sacred… sacred…
“Vamp of a ten sashays turns to vampire… no scars but trails of little delights devoured.”
I can’t concentrate, I struggle to listen, my back arches, I feel the first wave of glazing delight…
“That sweet, that bEttersweet taste of sin, sensual energy…”
I own her trembling breath as we simultaneously cry out, and with the well awaited kiss, confirm the wondrous explosion of pants, moans and rain escaping now through the core of our physical being, boisterous and ready for the creeping bliss.
“You want to touch me again, don’t you?”
Exhausted and breathless we lay under the shelter of a tree. The landscape and scenery now just a contrast… steam and rain, dark and light… and then the moonlight.
She holds on to me as my lips press on to her forehead. I smell a tear roll down the side of her face as she looks at me, unwilling to utter a word. I could sense the real storm ahead so I did not dare to ask.
This was a moment not meant to be spoiled by thoughts and questions about what lay ahead in the morning. I whispered the usual sweet dreams in her ear. We were like bats worshipping one another…
And like bats, with the sunrise we were no more.
My heart threatens to tear out of my chest while I run down the stairs and towards the little place beneath my window, the sound of milk splashing on the inside of the small bottle as I skip past two steps, then three, then four.
A sharp left… then a right… then another right… now slowly… carefully.
The cat looks at me, cautious, analysing.
I take two slow steps forward, this bringing me close enough to place the bowl of milk just next to her front paws.
She seems confused, then does a catish grin in ridicule while proudly showing off her fangs and tongue…
“Black foot? Aha! So you’re a wild one. I have someone you might want to meet.”
She tilts her head still grinning at me and then the unexpected… she lays her paws at my feat.
I scoop her up and hold her to my chest… just then… a rain drop.
A small tear wells up in my eye as I begin to walk on back to my apartment.
“Well she isn’t here now Katt, but she will come back! I have some meat up there, bet you must be starving.
My palm gentles the top of her head
Her forehead had suddenly become the home of a trillion sweat droplets
The scent of a lost race against emotion was on her like a stale ashtray left in the middle of a tiny room for decades
perhaps the ashes of that which can never be repeated was exactly that
and the thoughts; no matter how consistent could not
clear out the depths of the buds; the heart that beats without feeling
the eyes that see without seeing
the sound of music without reaction
the dripping of sacred juices without an allure of passion
That phrase will never be repeated
that home will never be rebuilt
skin, fingers,flowers and hair
are the forefathers of a numb heir
to an empty castle
with naught but walls, bars, creatures, dragons and demons
the wolf alive in me alone will continue
oh wolves love once only
and… baby..oh by the way;