01-25-2011, 11:33 AM
He packed his case and bought his ticket as I circle my life in his red pen.
Our noses and eyes and hips were touching on the platform.
Those green eyes against the clean, white shirt I ironed that morning.
He dabs a raindrop from my cheek and there, with that electric touch I am undressing him.
His clean white, ironed shirt is on the dusty cement.
My unpainted claws digging into his shoulder-blade causing him to warningly bite my bottom lip.
My bottom lip trails love-infected kisses from his ear to his breastbone, without fear.
"Don't go." I want to whisper as he picks me up at the waist and slams me against the train.
My hair is pulled from it's brunette ponytail.
Shake it out and let me breathe our out of focus reality.
"Cunt." He hisses with lust, guilt and the love-infected thrusts - not kisses.
Fucked.
God, I know I'm writing smut, I know, why do I love it so much?
You unlock the wicked side of me.
Sink into me, so I may clamp my thighs and lock you there. I'd keep you there, pump against you there so we may be like another part of the machinery making the train.
We'll become it.
I'm weak and I'm calm and I'm erratic and I'm breathless.
Work, work me... and responsibilities? After a long weekend of teenage antics...just stay and play?
What's so wrong with that?
I shake the feeling, and actually look at the situation.
We only kissed on the cheek at the station and we only talk now and again.
My sister's staying at mums while she gives birth to your child and even though you are my sister's fiance that was the best fantasy of my life.
Sick huh?
Just get me a bloody double, I think I've hit rock bottom.
"You've got some serious fucking issues."
My head's resting on the wheel
outside the station.
The train has gone and
he has gone.
I'm still shaking.
I'm still aching.
"Some serious fucking issues..."
I lay and I think whilst flicking through old photographs
about you, what you do, and how it would feel having you lie next to me.
Though we lie
and we change
and everything can erase
that feeling
that I felt
when I was only seventeen.
"Some serious fucking issues..."
At a train
in the rain
I watch you slip away
with a kiss
on the cheek
you're leaving me again.
We are not
ones in love
though a sister I haven't got
personality
split in two
was more than you could cope
with.
So I sit
and I wait
and the cars in the lot rearrange.
I hear
you're coming home,
my ex-fiance,
my best friend.
I think
about you,
about the kid we almost put through
my sickness,
my 'serious issues',
how could we get through this?
I'm tired,
I'm so tired.
The bed is still made up on your side
and it moves -
I feel it move,
I haven't moved for days.
So I smile,
I let
the memories wash over me.
It's not you
it's my mum
just come to check and see
my sanity.
My insanity.
She came to move two more empty bottles of wine,
from my side,
from where I cried
when our baby fell out of me.
Cold and wet,
my regret,
and you left on the next days train
it's not the same,
my bereft shame
the guilty party is not only me.
In my wedding dress,
I lay,
both parts of me love you through it.
We're not the same,
in my shame,
one half wants to die and another wants to see you grieve.
We conceived, you and I,
an idea that died in me
and you just left.
"No regrets."
The broken couple, two parts of me.
How could you say that to me?
"You have some serious fucking issues..."
Our noses and eyes and hips were touching on the platform.
Those green eyes against the clean, white shirt I ironed that morning.
He dabs a raindrop from my cheek and there, with that electric touch I am undressing him.
His clean white, ironed shirt is on the dusty cement.
My unpainted claws digging into his shoulder-blade causing him to warningly bite my bottom lip.
My bottom lip trails love-infected kisses from his ear to his breastbone, without fear.
"Don't go." I want to whisper as he picks me up at the waist and slams me against the train.
My hair is pulled from it's brunette ponytail.
Shake it out and let me breathe our out of focus reality.
"Cunt." He hisses with lust, guilt and the love-infected thrusts - not kisses.
Fucked.
God, I know I'm writing smut, I know, why do I love it so much?
You unlock the wicked side of me.
Sink into me, so I may clamp my thighs and lock you there. I'd keep you there, pump against you there so we may be like another part of the machinery making the train.
We'll become it.
I'm weak and I'm calm and I'm erratic and I'm breathless.
Work, work me... and responsibilities? After a long weekend of teenage antics...just stay and play?
What's so wrong with that?
I shake the feeling, and actually look at the situation.
We only kissed on the cheek at the station and we only talk now and again.
My sister's staying at mums while she gives birth to your child and even though you are my sister's fiance that was the best fantasy of my life.
Sick huh?
Just get me a bloody double, I think I've hit rock bottom.
"You've got some serious fucking issues."
My head's resting on the wheel
outside the station.
The train has gone and
he has gone.
I'm still shaking.
I'm still aching.
"Some serious fucking issues..."
Rock Bottom Fantasy II
I lay and I think whilst flicking through old photographs
about you, what you do, and how it would feel having you lie next to me.
Though we lie
and we change
and everything can erase
that feeling
that I felt
when I was only seventeen.
"Some serious fucking issues..."
At a train
in the rain
I watch you slip away
with a kiss
on the cheek
you're leaving me again.
We are not
ones in love
though a sister I haven't got
personality
split in two
was more than you could cope
with.
So I sit
and I wait
and the cars in the lot rearrange.
I hear
you're coming home,
my ex-fiance,
my best friend.
I think
about you,
about the kid we almost put through
my sickness,
my 'serious issues',
how could we get through this?
I'm tired,
I'm so tired.
The bed is still made up on your side
and it moves -
I feel it move,
I haven't moved for days.
So I smile,
I let
the memories wash over me.
It's not you
it's my mum
just come to check and see
my sanity.
My insanity.
She came to move two more empty bottles of wine,
from my side,
from where I cried
when our baby fell out of me.
Cold and wet,
my regret,
and you left on the next days train
it's not the same,
my bereft shame
the guilty party is not only me.
In my wedding dress,
I lay,
both parts of me love you through it.
We're not the same,
in my shame,
one half wants to die and another wants to see you grieve.
We conceived, you and I,
an idea that died in me
and you just left.
"No regrets."
The broken couple, two parts of me.
How could you say that to me?
"You have some serious fucking issues..."