#52 the satellites.


 ‘Touch her.

I did, and I wound up breaking her.

So, in favor of my words, don’t touch her.

Leave her be.

Never heed my words; they were cemented into her brain.

But then,

They became cracks and within slipped hope.’

I chose to be the volatile and destructive human being I am today. Prayers did me no good. Nothing did me any good. Except for her touch. I would write letters of undeniable, heart achingly true love. Insurmountable, not a word of objection to be heard, nor the blink of any eye in the opposite direction.

 I touched her once, dared to submit her.

Her skin is a drug, please listen to me, I was once a drug addict. It must have relapsed a thousand times, the feel of fire under my cold hands. It was stone turned to flesh. I was alive with her. In depth, I was her single soul. She breathed me in like a survivor does to keep their chest rising above dangerous waters. I let her, because I needed the warmth of the one million entities within her. The gasps that traveled across her body as they escaped, whispering in my ear, ‘tell her she’s beautiful.’  A pricey habit of mine, to bite down on her skin and remind her that I think of her higher then the stars. I cannot bring up the words; they don’t allow them to drip onto your skin, into the silence that was our presence.

I don’t know your name; it’s a shadow I cannot capture. But I know your skin well, not even do I know the back of my hand so well. I could map out the route of your collarbone to your torso, and not yet know how to map the area around my home.

She was so beautiful, and aside from that, much more.

My hands ache to become buried within your skin. Eternally, they always will. Don’t run; let me carry your body. She was wary of the destruction they caused. My body, with yours was a denotation waiting to be discovered. An implosion under the eyes of the satellites, a signal to stop my actions. But, I’ve never followed the rules; the laws were but blasphemy to me. You liked that, didn’t you? Although not when I defied your body, your screams were almost a pleasure. In fact, they were ecstasy to me. I wish I could apologize. Hear her heartbeat and synchronize with mine, without tears fumbling to fall across her bruised face.

I tried to cry with her, but it was spilling, it was this dark color. It’s a blur. Drugs tend to leave you winded. I caused it, my ephemera of ecstasy had given out. The brutality was gone. My words had spilled out, not into her skin, but into the air. I was clad in her blood. Her breath was leaving her. I couldn’t ask for her to love me. I didn’t love her, or her touch any longer. The pit-pat of her feet on the linoleum is deafening, she’s running. Forgive me. The sirens are blaring. The clamor is giving me a headache.

I was destructive. Her touch was frozen, and my hands were warm. I clenched my fists and refused to touch her any longer. My addiction was fatal, to her.

 So please, believe me, I was once a drug addict. Touch her lightly, don’t let the one million entities tell you she’s beautiful. They were my corruption.


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