Sex

Thrusting, sweating, moaning, groaning. Bed creeks. It cracks. I crack. You crack. Deary me, how did it get like this?

Don't look me in the eyes I'm not quite ready for you to see that yet. Not ready for you to see the damage, the baggage, just slide it in and make us both have a jolly old time.

But you force me to look you in the eyes and I almost think you almost curious. Do you enjoy eye contact because it makes the sex more intense? Or do you enjoy it to know that there's someone as fucked up as you out there? I wish you'd stop trying though. Rip off all my layers, go on, I still won't be seen dead naked in front of the likes of you, dear. Rip off my skin, reach down my throat, throw out my heart, leave it bleeding and beating there, my soul won't be yours, it never will be, you will never see the bitter sweet soul behind these eyes you desire to know so much. Perhaps that makes you sad. I can't really tell, when you are ecstatic to be between my thighs.

God, I love this, though. Thighs burning up against each other, forehead to forehead, I could almost love you, I could almost scream that I do right now. Move my legs onto your shoulders, deeper now, deeper. Then I scream, not just because it ignites sensations I didn't know existed, but because you have given me a sense of salvation, you have numbed the pain, you have saved me for... 45 minutes? Kiss me on the forehead, call me a slut. Cute. 

Flip me over by my ankles, decided a better way to fuck. My favourite way, and of course you're going to pretend you knew that. Pull on my hair, that's fine I did it nicely for you, but if you're going to be like that next time I won't god damn bother. Oh! I make myself laugh "next time", Pull me up close to you, wrap your arms around me now. It's like you are protecting me, but it is too little too late. I like the feel of your arms around me, you are warm against my cold skin, my icy veins, your blood boils next to me, I can feel your pulse. You are grabbing me so hard that I know it'll bruise, but it doesn't matter. You can mark me if you really like. No love bites though, I told you I detest them.

Grip moves up, towards my neck, while one touches me in other places. Choking me, till I think I may pass out, and yet I smile. Looking up at you with lewd eyes, you smile too. That look in your eyes, though, that's love, and my eyes are swarming with lust. Hand moves back to my boobs now and I do something ridiculously out of character, I move my head backwards to kiss you, and you kiss back with a tenderness that I don't deserve and that makes me want to bow down and worship you.

Push my head back down to the pillow, probably because you're sick to death of my face, or maybe because you know I'm sick of yours. You slap my arse anyway. Yep, that's going to bruise. Hand prints all over me. I am not something to be colonised, though you appear to think differently. 

Moans muffled by the pillow, you slide out. You turn me onto my back, look at me with a menacing look in your eye. I know that look. Stuff that ridiculously large thing into my ridiculously small mouth. Shut up my moaning, satisfy your needs. I can barely breathe. I don't think you even appreciate me giving up crucial CO2 that fuels this nightmare of a life for me to suck your flavourless lollipop. Eyes smile up at you anyway, just for the hell of it. Can't ruin your most perfect night, now, can I?

Yes, thanks for that, in my eye, and in my hair. Thanks. A. Fucking. Bunch.

Wipe my face. Yeah. Thanks. Might have blinded me.

Sit down beside me. Light a cigarette. You've bought my favourite brand, you didn't forget. You don't usually smoke Marlboro Gold, I noticed that, but you must've been saving weeks for this 20 deck, deary me. Light mine for me, wink as you hand it me. Collapse onto my breasts. I play with your hair. "You're so gross and sweaty", I laugh, and you laugh too. Make some small talk, I see how nervous you are. I see right through you, dear.

Stub your cigarette out over me. Move up so our heads are level on your pillows. You look at me and tell me I'm beautiful, I smile and say thanks- it's not worth the argument. 

Remember the last time I had sex. Remember who it was. Feel tears coming on. Oh God what have I done? Curl up into your chest. You ask what's wrong. I say nothing, as I play with your belly button. You play with my hair and enquire if I'm sure. I nod. They say a part of you has to be dead inside to do stuff like this. I ask you if you think that, you say no, and that it won't end at just this. I cringe inside. 

It's not even that I'm using you, I like you, I like our times, I enjoy your company. There's a hole that needs filling, and no not even in that way, just when he left there was some of my soul that decided to run after him and leave me too. I don't know if you'll be the one to restore that yet. 

Yet lying in your arms, after countless bruises, cuts, I think I'm even bleeding and God knows when I'll be able to sit down again. I know that you care. And I'm scared that you're going to love me. And I'm scared you love the part of me that is a dream, and when the nightmare attacks you, you'll leave like the rest. I don't think you're ready for what you're getting yourself in for. Eventually you'll slap my ass harder, you'll pull my hair almost till it comes out, you'll hate me sometimes, you'll get sick of me. Then you'll leave.

And I know I'm not ready, I'm not ready. Using sex to escape the emotions that stalk me as their prey each and everyday. At least when we fuck, there is nothing but you, your smell, your face, your hair, your sweat. Thank you for being my saviour, it's a shame you'll probably be a temporary one. 

Push my head down under the covers, smile, wink, raise those immaculate eyebrows at me. Oh dear, I hate to like you. Round 2 commences. 

Untitled

There isn't a title for this one. Mainly because I've going through how to structure and phrase this blog for 2 weeks, just going round and round, following the hopeless words that whirl around my poor little head.

Because every time I think of a structure or sentence it sounds cheesy and corny and I don't want to say it but frankly I'm sick of crying myself to sleep after a fortnight of being without you.

And I don't want to sound generic or pathetic, but it's hard not to through language so poetic but if I write how I feel down on a word processed document then how I feel becomes fiction and we can all escape reality for a little while.

Because I am just so angry. So angry. I'm angry at you, I'm angry at me, I'm angry at this whole shitty thing we let ourselves get into. I'm so angry that I messed up the best thing that ever happened to me, I'm angry that you let me. I'm angry that two people who love each other more than anything can't be together any more because it got too much for one of them. I'm angry that you're gone. I'm angry at myself, my ego. Why couldn't I have been better? I'm angry I'm a nightmare, I am my own nightmares, and I can't escape them. I can't sleep now you're gone. Just constant nightmares. In them you die or you shift shape or you run away for good, and I end up screaming and crying and pleading once more and I get confused in case it is somnambulism because I wake up feeling as scared and as tired as I did before I fell asleep, I wake up still missing you, I wake up still stuck, I wake up still angry.

Before you I had lost who I was. Behind all the hate, all the pain, all the fame, all the popularity, all the stress, all the tears, I lost it. You found it again, now it's lost again and I'm trying so desperately to cling to the shreds of what is left of us because I don't want to lose that girl again. I miss being nerdy, I miss not caring, I miss waking up happy, I miss not being harassed, I miss being busy, I miss being looked after.

And I know everyone will tell us that we can do better. We both can. We probably both know this. We just don't want better. While my Facebook chats sneak into my bathroom, prick it's finger and scrawl "date me, date me, date me" all over the mirror, I'm too busy revisiting our own dates. I just don't want any one else. I think back to being in that hotel room with you, wrapped up with you in sheets so white and pure and I just want to go back to that night and back to that moment and just lie there intertwined with you forever even if we miss the check out time because checking out isn't important when I need to relinquish the feel your skin on mine.

No one has ever planned a future with me before. No one has ever made me feel like I'm worth a future. I hope our future isn't gone, because it sounded pretty great. Choking back tears because I'm losing my shit over some of the bullshit you said before you just took off and left and I just don't understand how you can do that in such a short time, relentlessly, tearing out the heart and leaving it to bleed while I look up into your eyes with the same loveful look I always conjured up when I had to look at someone I never goddamn deserved. 

And it's just over. For a while, but I think forever, I don't think you're coming back, but I really wish you would. I wake up in the night from a treacherous nightmare and I think back to New Year's when I woke up from one again next to you and I sat up and you woke up and said what's wrong and I curled up into your big lanky arms and I told you I had a bad dream and half way through telling you, I fell asleep and woke up on your chest hearing that precious heartbeat. Then I think back to earlier in that night when the countdown happened and I held your hand and I remember what I told you after all the vodka and cocktails I told you I love you and that this was our year and that we'll get through this year okay and oh my God you stupid girl why can't you take your own goddamn advice?

Even with those memories I still curl up to that Pikachu cushion and I still wish really hard it was you. Thank God writers are born with imaginations.

And oh my God, what am I to do when you forget me? You say you won't but I think you will, everybody does, I am forgettable. Who would want to remember a nightmare like me? I want to forget myself sometimes so I wouldn't force them memory of me on you again. Then you'll find another girl, and she'll be pretty, and less of a pain, she might watch anime, and she might have less stumpy fingers, and she might be a bit taller and she might buy better presents and she might have a bigger bed and not smoke or drink.

But she won't be able to ever love you half as much as I do. 

And I just really really fucking hope we get back together, because I feel lost, and as the French say "il me manque" he is missing from me, tu me manques. I feel lost and like shit, and I just want to call you mine again and hold your donny and go to pizza hut and have petty arguments over what to order and share and I'll be better.

I will be better. I promise to be better. I won't be a nightmare, I promise to be a sweet dream. You deserve all the sweet dreams.

 

Smoke

Tears down my face, lost over you again. It's been a short time, but there's been so much between us. So much passion, so much love, sometimes so much hate. It's crazy isn't it? We're both a little crazy. We're both a little fucked up. We can't live with each other, but can't live without each other. Another argument. Over what again? You're going to leave. Should you leave? Should I leave? Is this beautiful or has it lost its beauty?

Choke on my tears. Feels like I'm going to be sick. Reach for the pack of Marlboro. Close our conversation. Deliberate what to wear. It's freezing. Wear just your jumper and leopard print slippers anyway. Cold doesn't bother me, not when I'm warm from the burning flame of passion that binds us together, that's fuelled and encouraged by the bitter arguments over nothing. Your jumper, the one with "Computer Science" on. That's what I love about you, you're like the other half of me. If this were my jumper it'd have "Modern Languages" inscribed on it. Every time we have to work out a restaurant bill, you're there, Mr Arithmetic.

We've been driven apart by stuff. I'm not allowed to explicitly say what stuff so I will attempt to equivocate it to get it off my chest and stop this goddam demon dominating every inch of my conscience and soul. The cheating, the possession, the jealousy. I'm secure. Why do you try and knock my security? You're supposed to cement it, build on it, build yourself on it, build your own security. Instead you try and knock me down and pass it off as it's because you love me. Well, guess what, I hate your exes for making you who you are, and the narcissist in me hates you for punishing me for their mistakes. You say things, they're inconsiderate, do you realise the stress sometimes? You give me a flower, then moan about the flower you've given me, try and get me to stomp on it.

It's difficult now, isn't it? My, what used to be clear blue skies and sunshine has now been plagued by a storm of misfortune and distrust. We have been smitten by our own pasts. I'm depressed, I'm cynical, I'm moody, it pushes you away, you control, you get jealous, you cheat and that pushes me away. What are we to do? What are we to do? Our future is so bleak. So bleak.

I still worry you're speaking to somebody better, somebody a bit taller, somebody with less spots, who watches that anime you like, who plays more video games than me. I suck. I don't know why you're with me sometimes. Do I ever please you? Think about it.

But still here I am in your comfy university jumper, cigarette in hand. I stare to the stars that shine brightly tonight. 3% are stars, you say, the rest are satellites. Doesn't bother me as long as they're pretty. Pretty shallow of me, I guess.

Such a big, big world out there. I'm only 5"1. Problems are so small and insignificant, but yet once again I find myself sobbing and alone in freezing weather that matches the broken heart that inhabits this body. The passionate flame melts it but the ice cold blast of the arguments freeze it again and I constantly find myself hurting and being pleasured at the same time, because being with you hurts my brain, my heart and it tests my durability as a person and a lover. Purgatory is the only word I know. I'm stuck here. I'm torn. When will this get easier? Are relationships always this hard? I've only ever had a few, I have basically no experience in this area. I need help. I need assistance, but once a-goddam-gain nobody is there for me.

Come to the end of your smoke. It wasn't enough. When it's pain like this, do cigarettes ever truly suffice?