kloe-oki

When I first met you, I thought nothing of your name. Just another name someone’s parents gave out for reasons unknown to me. But slowly it became something I grew to say out loud, to hear more often than not. I became infatuated with it. When someone else says it now, reminds me of you and what we did together. The way it fell from my lips while we were together. What we did to each other in those late hours of the night. Grabbing and clawing, our name a whisper on our tongues. I used to love your name. But now I hear it less and less. Every once in a while, I get hit with it and my memories of you come flooding back in. Especially in my travels in between the pages of a book. My dreams of you in between my thighs. Sometimes it sickens me, brings me heart fluttering joy even. But sometimes I wonder which side of the coin your mind is on when you hear my name.

Yes, well, my dear. Sometimes being held by a wolf in sheep clothing is the worst way to fill the forsaken hole in your chest. It burrows and remains untouched until it wants to give you false hope. Until it wants to feed. Kissing and caressing your skin, wrapping its claws around your very bones. But its not loving you, its eating you alive from the inside out. In such a way, it’s infinitesimally made.

I don't know what goes wrong. Maybe I showed my damaged parts too early. Do I wear them on my sleeve, too, ready to be stared at? Analyzed? Criticized? I scared you off, didn't I? But it's not for me, I suppose. The very cosmos I would kill to walk through together. Hot summer days. Where not even time can touch us. Where we can get enthralled by the worlds, we jump in. Walking through the pages of endless stories and a cold drink in hand. But alas, maybe my standards are deliriously high. Where only fiction sounds real. Quite deranged, don't ya think? Always want what one can never have. To be so close, yet so far from those sweet summer days.

Huh...and here I thought Lust or Sloth was my worst sin to undo me. So blind to the achievements of others. My own screaming behind me like a dragon protecting its treasure. Boasting to no end. Until mouths are replaced with megaphones and concert speakers.

Good art is time-consuming. That's why you're such a beautiful masterpiece. A masterpiece that I would love to unravel. To unhinged. To make you become undone. In such ways, Such ways that the devil may blush even knowing. To feel every inch, scar, uneven line of your skin. To swallow each moan. Each breath you exhale. Eat each other until we combust. Until we stand on the edge of existence and the universe all at once.

Crying yourself to sleep is a different type of pain. Waking up in the middle of the night for days at a time. Trying to silence my cries, holding my breath, clawing at the blanket, I hold so tight. The memory of you screams loud and clear. Mauling its way out of me in such violent out bursts, it makes my stomach ache. Your scent is slowing but surely leaving the bed sheets and pillows, and I don't know how I can cope with that. I can feel the shift of energy, the fact that you aren't beside me. It's cold without you here next to me. I feel like all my broken pieces are sprawled out all over the bed, and each time I roll over to see you're not there, it hurts me all over again. And im terrified you don't feel the same about me.

I'm so tired of being inside my body. This feeling never seems to go away. The chest tightening, the rapid breaths. Me wanting to scratch my skin to shreds to block out my mind from screaming at me. To stop overthinking, to stop worrying about everyone else, how my presence will affect everyone, if it's bad or not. To feel free of all of this would be a miracle.

I wish you were here. I wish I could turn back time, I wish all these things that could change the past, but not knowing what it would do to the future is a frightening thought. The unknown. Not having my daydreams in front of me as flesh and blood, something real. It's unsettling. This content weights on my mind that I love to make an appearance every now and then. At the worst times, too. Just when I think it's gone back to the hole in the back of my mind. It's pops up. Not even the shower water can drown out everything. Without music and heavy distractions, everything else seems to have been turned up on surround sound. So loud that tears come at unexpected moments, moments where I don't know which emotion or thought to even feel or think. I'm drowning in it all, and my dam is worn down to bits of rubble that magically come back together. Just to do it all over again...