Like some kind of new drug just as good as love I only wanted to try it. It turned me into a fog-headed, skin-suited luscious spirit; a phantom porn star with eyes that are six feet deep, wrapped around an unknown drifter desperate for a mystery as the Devil is for souls.
I used to feel shunned and buried alive in moments like these. Now I just take them for what they are. I breathe in the sex and the shit; my skin crawls when I remember the affection. Like so many things that are over, I can pretend it didn't happen.
Remembering you is like how it feels to kiss a dead body. There is no smile like there once was. There is no hope of a response. Unsatisfied, failing lips on cold skin.
Half buried alive but still breathing inside my own eyes, I watched you walk away in the midst of a night that found us both wanting. And it felt like you had tied a wire to my insides, pulling out the pith of me as you disappeared into an eerie mist dressed with yellow diamonds from persistent street lights. The aching was exquisite, and vomit worthy. I turned my bodily reflexes off because no one can stop a ghost from fading. I shrugged off the emotion, and smiled, knowing that we were both too black and blue to embrace one another without feeling pain; too cut up to lick each others wounds enough to stop the bleeding, anyway.