Where We Lie

Where do I lie?

Perhaps it’s in a duvet made of

all the ripped fabric,

that were once my clothes.

The garments he enjoyed shredding

with his filthy nails like a lion and it's meat.

His pot-stained breath

waltzed off beat with his slurred voice.

The intoxication in his words exit his mouth

as the once beautiful smile shriveled into

a subtle snarl.

His dry and callused fingers on my body,

attempting to heal every scar yet forming

new wounds around it.

He took pride in the darkening bruises patterned

along my arms, thighs, stomach. 

They will always be a reminder of the mantra

set in stone.

- I am his, and he is mine.   

He lies on a pillow

made from the old yellow sheets,

stained from our fluids and sweat.

The liquids were made from feats

of athletic intimacy,

camouflaged and distorted

with vile, lustful frenzy

and frantic claiming.

I reveled in the sickening, sinking sensation

of my canines attacking the tendon

of his neck.

Pulse skyrocketing with shock.

The little marks, how they aroused me!

- he is mine, and I am his.

Connection can create love

but how could we not be frightened?

How could we love each other gently,

when there are others who covet what belongs to us?

They want to take him away,

take me away.

Rip the planet from the sun.

Impossible but not without precaution.

- I am his and he is mine.

They don't understand, he ruins me

for all others.

His weapons;

kisses he could trademark.

Firm and violent clashes of teeth and tongues.

Heavy pants and mixed saliva.

No matter who desires to touch me,

the memories of his nefariously used

sacred spots,

they throw the others away.

Kill them all.

- he owns me

Those who dare to look upon him,

sense my jealous fury through messages;

all sent to him.

A ding for every doubt,

A ring for every accusation.

Who is she?

Is she prettier? Sexier?

Do you wish to be hers instead?

-  I own him

Some days I can’t stare at the sun,

for all I desire is eternal darkness underneath

the ground;

the separation from him

too miserable to bear.

Other times I dream of horned demons 

snatching him,

taking him to a place specially made for 

great evil

and sadistic souls.

- consumed by love 

Yet we both know,

when we die,

we will lie together in the bed we made.

Dragging each other to the floor,

then carrying each other to the bath.

Washing away the pain with soft touches.

Or drowning one another with rough grabs.

- plagued with hate 

Our bed, made once from desire

and pure magnetism,

now wet,

from thousands of spilled cocktails.

Ingredients: tears, misunderstanding,

insecurity, animal possession, and obsession.

Disgusting and pitied,

but addictive all the same. 

- forever we are one