58.

This...thing...between us...I don't know what it was...but it left me with a strange taste in my mouth. An indefinable yearning. It made me ache in weird, special places, especially the ones open to the world and raw and smarting. Like we should have met in another lifetime and now we're going to miss this chance again. I recognized your voice and had to...had to...cling.

 a growing doubt. a fear. a vague need.

To be held by you and believe that you'd be the one to make it all end. To make this recurring journey stop. Make it stop.

i don't know what you made me expect. i don't know if you're a ray of hope or a gun to my temple. oh, i know now. i want to be you. ngah. i really don't know what i'm talking about. i don't know you. but you're my hero. i don't even want to fuck you. what's this? like two white shafts of light colliding. yes right i wish, fucking is a smelly and dirty business.

But for you...for you i'd take pills, handfuls of pills and you'd let me lie by your side on your bed and you'd let me curl against you and wrap my hair around you and maybe you'd cradle me or my head and caress my neck and back while i'd slowly and peacefully drift to death.

i either wanted to be you -the boy with the beautiful words and erratic temper- or i wanted to die by your side wishing you'd find a way to keep me in your heart or bury me under your floor.

My corpse would be more of  a person than i am now. now i'm this vague blur this black hole you can fill with your need or anger or pain or abuse or lust or violence or affection or poison or sex or lies or hate. now i'm this vessel you can use to cum in, to piss in, to float in, to shit in, to puke in, to stomp in, to fuck in, to stab in, to bleed in. now i'm here this wound to infect with your imagination. now you don't know my smile or the colour of my eyes you don't know my birthmarks and freckles you don't know my sense of humour or if i have one you don't know what my face looks like when you make me cum you don't know my tears or laughter you don't know what books i like and what kind of music i listen to, and i know you wouldn't give a damn anyway or i'd make you bored after the fucking you'd see my ugliness you'd see my emptiness so i had to hide.

as a corpse, maybe you'd let me be your lover. maybe you'd know me then.

as a corpse, i'd wait for you under your bed. i'd smell and absorb the juices of your lovers. the boys and the men you fucked, the boys and men that fucked you. i'd be the awkward rancid smell that'd make them scrunch their noses, the dead smell that 'd permeat your bones, your skin, your dreams, your words. i'd be a warm nest of soft holes and inscets and pliant, decaying flesh to slip into after your big men and sugar daddies fukced you raw. i'd caress your insides with secret creatures born in my eyes and fermnted in my belly. I'd lay still and patient like the earth for you, around you, waiting.