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I offer my sincerest apologies to the friends and family of the victim. I cannot imagine the amount of pain and suffering you must be feeling, and I am sorry for your trouble. Apologizing is something I am not very good at, and this is no exception. Especially since her screams were so beautiful, and her young flesh so delicious. I found her begging majestic.
Forgive me; I cannot help myself.
I’m going to lick
every inch of your skin,
and not stop until I’ve had enough.
Every bead of sweat,
every line of your figure,
is mine.
Remembered this was on the whiteboard in my study. Got real drunk a couple months ago and did some poetry magnets. Yikes.
I could feel the lips and muscles of myself
begin to flutter and then bloom.
Pushing outwards,
wet,
layer by layer,
like a flower.
Vibrant reds.
Vulnerable pinks.
My pelvis tilted upward;
my petals poised and opening to your sun of a mouth.
My seeping cum,
beginning to collect like pools of rain water beneath me.
The moon is my clock, and when it is full, it will be time to see you again.
My head has been full of confusion and the sky of spaceships.
The bugs splatter across my windshield like rain and
I wish it was my brains on the pavement.
The pain in my chest has spread; I can feel it in my thighs, arms, throat.
I hope I see you before it reaches my head,
or at least before the steel barrel of my gun does.
Razors can’t seem to be sharp enough, can’t seem to cut deep enough,
I feel like my blood is too hidden to reach.
I couldn’t feel it slicing my skin open, but then again, I can’t make it hurt like you can.
I’m sure I’ll never be able to feel anything again.
I know that even razor wire and cement walls couldn’t keep us apart,
so why do I feel so far away?
This is a terrible web we’ve woven.
And it was I alone that ruined our relationship.
Now,
Our beautiful lives as spiders;
Stalking, catching, cocooning,
Sucking dry the flies,
Really only exists somewhere between dreams and reality.
His eyes are upon me again, I can feel it. Sometimes he’s a tall looming silhouette on the path behind me when I walk at night, or a whisper in the wind outside my window. Other nights, he’s the noises coming from the darkness between the trees, or the warm sticky breath upon my neck while I sleep. But he’s always those eyes; piercing and dark, with such depth and hunger.
He’s been following me for so long, awake and sleeping, that my body can register his closeness before my eyes see him. His presence, although frightening, has become familiar. There has always been that grip of fear in my core, the electricity down my spine, but now there’s something else as well.
His eyes feel like a weight or a blanket; covering, hiding, and comforting me. But sometimes it feels like the warm sun on your face after being in the cold. Sometimes it’s easier to sleep knowing I’m not alone, even if he’s always out of reach. And his eyes, only ever watching and never daring to touch.
There are grounds floating in my coffee
And my red lipstick print on the rim.
It splashes in the cup as I drive distractedly
And I can’t stop thinking about him.
It’s been raining for days
There’s a cigarette in my hand
And I can’t begin to count the ways
That his love is hard for me to understand.
My fingers are stained yellow with nicotine
My lips are stained red from his kiss
When we’re together my thoughts are so serene
And when we’re apart his love I surely do miss.
I feel like we spent the beginning always in my truck
Fighting for minutes and seconds alone
I had never expected to have this kind of luck
I get weak when I hear his voice on the phone.
He asks me how I got so beautiful
And I asked him if I’m good enough
Love like this in stories is always magical
In him are my secrets and I’ve given him all my trust.
I want to spend all our time tangled up in bed
Our mouths working silently to show our love
I want his pets and kisses on my head
His eyes make me tremble, looking down on me from above.
His hands are soft and strong from hard work and love
His bed a safe port, a welcoming harbor for rest
His smile and laugh must be what angels are made of
His affections are surely among the worlds best.
He holds me as though I am a goddess or rare flower,
His eyes shine with the love told of in bardic songs
He holds me against him with both grace and power,
I wasn’t even looking and he had been here all along.
Nights spent together in the rooms of his farmhouse,
Is this the kind of man the ancients wrote stories about
My yearning burns like a wildfire needing to be doused
I wonder how I could have ever had any doubt.
This is where I was born.
Cold stone and metal were my womb.
Electricity was my mother, and my Father isn’t one.
I travel this world tormented and alone;
searching for answers I’ll never get,
and companionship I’ll never have.
I yearn for understanding and peace,
but I’ve only ever known fear and pain.
Am I being punished for the sins
that belonged to the men that I used to be?
I long for the day when I can put an end to that monster of a man,
the one who bestowed my hideous being with life.
I feel as though I have existed for an eternity.
I fear I may never make sense of who or what I am.
I search in vain for my creator,
and for Death,
and I am terrified that I may never find either.
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