hIr

“its okay.”

breath on my neck humbling the tremors in my hands. gliding. like butter. her hands wrapped around my hands wrapped around sweet ecstasy. i cant describe it. indulging in such delicacies. the rush of excitement of driving at three am. closing your eyes and pushing the pedals down; she leaves it up to chance. while the sadness drips from my veins she holds me, rocks me. hushes me. i can feel her tears burn into my cheeks. why is she sobbing? on tuesday night i tell her that i am done. that i do not want to do this anymore. she smiles-

“its too late.”

ten minutes after the bell she stumbles inside. late. the coffee on her breath muffled by the alcohol seeping from my pores. the dead of night reflecting itself in the circles under her eyes. i am tired. tired of seeing her this way. shes tired. tired of the boys and the booze and the chemistry tests. she spends hours in the library. hours calculating risks, hours analyzing equations, hours reviewing the statistics. seconds in the bar. seconds learning your name, seconds in the back seat, seconds before she whispers-

“show me your dark side.”

i felt the vibrations of her lips melt into yours. i sealed my mouth. please do not say another word. she ripped the clothes from my skin. i do not want to meet any part of you. instead i lay down, watch her eyes. black. i feel your body twitching. your sweat dripping into my skin. again i meet her eyes. glazed over. staring at the ceiling. the thirty seconds you occupy her body she is allowed to leave. three is a crowd. she asks me to wait in the car. stains of humiliation paint her neck, even after the darkness in her eyes disappears. on the drive home i ask her why she lays down with people who make her feel so alone-

“i love it.”

i stopped recognizing her. a strangers touch replacing a warm embrace. visiting a grave; knowing the body that once gave you so much peace is being devoured in the darkest places this universe has to offer. still i fought for her. like a solider defending his country i defended her right to sanity. i told her she was beautiful and intelligent and deserved happiness. but she described hating herself as a type sickness. a cancer that manifest in your brain and illuminates though your smile. she doesn’t seem to care. making no efforts to get better. having a so called love affair with every form of self destruction available to a nineteen year old child. i am lost. im screaming that i don’t know how to help her. bewildered i ask her who she has become-

“you. i am you.”

 

“certain individuals cannot handle what they have become. they project their discrepancies onto other people, act as though someone else is the reason they do what they do. they create a world where their sadness, emptiness and self loathing doesn’t exist. instead they are meerly a bystander, disassociated from themselves. we can only imagine how detrimental it is when they discover the reality of the situation.”