The Beast that I Have Birthed

On the LIRR, heading home with a hacking cough and my B and I still don't think I've completely recovered from the other night. (The air in here stings!)

I don't know why or how that killed me, but it did. That he regrets parts of me... I felt haunted and oppressed and filthy, but a strange part of my wanted to laugh wildly and run out and do it all again... with breath scented of lemon drops and cloves, blackness smudged in the corners of my eyes, layers of glitter and glass on my lips and arms bound around my waist...

But I suppressed that part of me-- that voice-- and in doing so, shut down all of my strength and buried her. And she seems to be so deeply buried that I couldn't even summon her when I needed to... and that scares me.

In the Heights... and I feigned a coolness which turned form ice to heat in the salt on my cheeks. And then there was nothing-- a depth of emptiness that I have never before experienced and hope I never will again. And I could see him there-- pounding against the glass-- his voice spreading out thinly into thousands of waves. Yellow and red layers danced in stars of verticality and then horizontally, all reflecting his shining black pupils.

And I took nothing.

All of it was sent shooting off the glass of my eyes, skimming rocks across the water. And the even larger lights blinking in my eyes like amber pools, slashed with grates and streaks of taxi cabs, blue uniforms, rifles pointed, softly quivering lower eyelids and all of it swimming just beyond me.

And somehow, the dripping stopped and it ended, although I'm not sure where or when.

And yesterday-- when he called me his "clean, pure, princess" and I am riddled with guilt and scabbing.

I cried this morning over nothing and I feel myself growing more and more dependent on his words-- the old reflexes hammering against their coffin lids with their tiny ancient clawed fists-- and although I have buried them, I wonder if they are dead. (And still, this cough persists.)

And he is writing about me... what he has learned... and he loves me more with each word. But it scares me at the same time... that he will discover something more that I know myself, or that he will create a record and create a living demon out of that horror... give life and breath to the beast that I have birthed and having done so, am ready to slaughter.

I suppose that there is always some measure of fear that comes with trust... but I have always made so many mistakes in trusting before...

And that makes me think of AIR7. As much as he was selfish and insensitive and insecure and cruel, he still has the ability to hurt me greatly, or at least make things difficult for me with the information that he has. But he hasn't, and so part of me wonders if he still loves me... or if it isn't worth the time it would take in his thoughts. And the fact that I still care really bothers me...

VJ said yesterday that we should hang out with him again, and I could feel the color draining from my cheeks. I stumbled for a response. Fuck him for ever making me still think of him at all!

And so, I am fearful and unresolved, guilt-ridden and self-loathing, but blessed with the unbearable bliss of being his "clean, pure princess." A baby girl. And although my staved heart springs to life at such a thought, part of me admonishes it to sit still and fast-- endure its hunger.

(And I seem to find the happiness I seek... when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek.)

Pink and red roses are my cheeks and I cringe at their fullness and the dark shadows under the curves.

God, I am tired! His head rests heavy and gentle on my shoulder and I think that maybe I will rest my eyes too.

I will rest my eyes too...