Long breath drew in as my body arched upwards. Screams catching in the back of my throat, a flood escapes between my thighs. Once again, the sins of the flesh have captivated my Sunday morning. Dribbles of dew falling from my slender digits, my tongue stretched to take in the communion of my sins. There is no better healing then self-love.
I flipped the tv on, the same thing nightly routine that I’ve done since that age of 5. Every man I’ve ever dated called my fear of the dark irrational. I agree, but then again, I don’t care what they think. When you’ve been through my hell, you can complain. Until then, shut the hell up.
I failed again today. Not my family nor my friends. I failed to look in the mirror and see the reflection that others saw. All I see when looking in that thing is unlovable. I will never be the first choice in anyone’s life. No matter how loud I scream for help, the only words that ever come out of my mouth are, “I’m okay.”
Hands wrapped around the warmth, her mouth lowered, salivating for the first taste of sweet nectar. Spilling across her tongue, the creamy delight filled her throat with the most magical drops of liquid love ever created. One gush of heat after another, she swallowed every single drop. Her cravings for her addictions growing stronger each time she swallows another mouthful of heavenly delights.
She stood in the rain, the world around her melting from the heavens above. Arms lifting to the sky, each pelt of water washing away the sins that littered her soul. The tears that fell, never seen. Some said that she always felt at home in the rain.
Laying back on the bench, once vibrant dreams are now tattered with despair, there is nothing in the world lonelier than losing hope. Whispering, her confessions were given to the air around her, as her voice slowly fading, only the wind listened to her cries.
Sitting on the shelf like an old forgotten book, she watched as her life gently passed her by, aging her soul with neglect. Hours, days, months, and years, the dust built on her as did old novels that the world forgot existed. She screamed with fears of being replaced by a modern version of a lost life, each generation forgetting a classic’s beauty.
She watched him through the old broken window, her stained fingers clung to the edge, crumbling the splintered wood until she bled. Droplets of her pain fed the termites, and his happiness fed her despair. Squinting to hold back the flood, just knowing she would never be good enough rotted her corpse as she took her last hit of his acidic love.
The candle waited in the window, the pathway manicured, she waited for him to find his way back home. Day’s, weeks, month, turning into years, the flickering light was all that warmed her soul. She took her hope to her grave, never giving up faith that her light would beam the brightest.
Another letter written across her skin; these were the love letters she wrote to herself. Worthless Pathetic Unloved Sealed in a box. buried in the earth, her soul’s secrets contained the only love she ever knew.