I’m disoriented and tongue-clumsy. My mouth cannot form sentences and I’m muted by my own confusion as I fall into invisible melancholy. What day is it? Where am I? What is this I’m feeling? I try to please everyone and the result is always disappointment and failure, to myself and the to lot of them.
I can’t commit. I can’t make promises. I can’t listen so instead I feel. I feel wildly and loudly and I feel between my legs and wet against my neck and I feel it whisper into my ear.
He says so many things but I can’t listen so instead, I feel. Urges, wants, obsessions, sins, flesh. I can feel it all and I swallow it whole as I take him, all of him, into my throat, into my body, into that place where my heart should be, but it’s not. It’s not there anymore well, not much of it really. A void, a scab, some scar tissue maybe. Nothing worth wanting.
Why does he want it? Does he like it? He has stayed with me and near me and in me and all over me, like I’m some prize. Some stroke of good fortune he’s fallen into. He does not see that through all my good deeds, no matter how hard I try to fill my empty and cold insides I can’t, and I’m afraid. I’m afraid he’ll figure it out. In fact, I’m terrified he’ll realize I’m nothing but a shell of kindness and generosity, lacking any real depth, kinda like a greeting card with a message printed conveniently for you on the inside that tells the recipient in tried and true words just how much you care.
I am so deep, I am hazardous. So many have tripped and fallen after tasting me and I have left a long and dangerous trail of broken, evil men in my wake. After they fall they‘re never the same and it kills me.
I don’t want him to change. He shouldn’t. He mustn’t! Why do I do this to them, one after another? Why do they always return to me a black, void of emptiness and depth and complications? I see the reflection of their defeat, of my unwanted victory, when I look into their changed, jaded, cold eyes.
His eyes are still pure. Still. Happy. They project their beauty onto me like a clear blue sky or the eternal oceans of loves gone by. Love. Why do we love? How is it that we love one, then another, then again, when it always seems to hurt and the more lovers we have the more we’re scarred for the next one who loves us. It doesn’t seem fair.
We are not patient. We convince ourselves these feelings are more than chemical reactions in our brains and we decide we have, “Found it! I’ve found him! The one I’ve been looking for!” and then they change. All of them, one by one, always and infinitely and forever.
I don’t want to lose this one. Can I prevent it? Can I stop him from drinking my poison and can I keep him from becoming like me, like the rest, while he falls in love with me, wants to know me, learn me? Should I tell him “darling, learning me will surely kill you?”
I can but I won’t because I’m empty and I do not know how to take charge of another. I can only watch. It is so terrifying to see love coming in the distance, like a steady stream of white smoke rising to the sky which only signals the inevitable devastation of the fire to come. Do I put it out of do I run?
Sticky's 7th grade boyfriend dumped her for "moving too fast" and things really haven't changed for her since. She currently resides in Los Angeles and writes about the men she's had. You'll find her in the smoking section or wherever champagne is served (but it's easier to follow her on Twitter) @stickyisaslut
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