"I don’t believe in ghosts, but I’m interested in absences."
Olivia Lang, The Trip to Echo Spring (via sarahjeanalex)
I am going through a dry spell, words-wise,
I am going through a wet spell in the flesh.
I am angling for an invitation to the bones pushing painfully close, hard against your stretched skin-
I am finding wildly-welted bruises across my ass cheeks, upper thighs, the backs of my knees.
Your kneecaps knock me into oblivion. I am a lost missile, a pile of the hot, soft and pulsating. I am seeking a burial that delves into the deep of you.
I am constantly heartbroken with how much I love him. I tell him to come to me so I can tear him into pieces. He comes to me. I say, here, hurt me. I say, I could cut you open right now to crawl around your warmly loyal beating heart. He says, I never mean to. He says, you would. I wouldn’t put it past you.
I always thought I would be the martyr, not the murderer. Until I met you, I never knew I could be both.