Distance in Strides

I take the distance in strides.  like the drunk that hides their addiction.  Precise. Careful.  And addled with drink.  I think about the footfalls. Razor sharp and forced. Heavy limbs, heavy heart, heavy eye lids that refuse to close. Too tired to fight the uneasy feeling in limbs as they reach out to an empty bed. I pull your tee shirt to my chest and breathe in the scent of your absence. You still linger on the cotton.  Distressed from time and wear and tear.

Your smell still triggers arousal through the loneliness. And I concentrate on the warmth of your lips against mine. For a moment I've lost my stride. I push it away. In anger or fear. And the heat of the tears brings momentary shock.  I reach for the Marlboro Reds at my side but there's no comfort in the tobacco. Only a dull numbing pain. Heavy and hard. I strike the lighter And hold the flame to the flesh of my hand.  I need to feel something.  Anything but this.  It stings and for a moment I smile and imagine my skin melting away and exposing raw bone and vein. I pour a shot to wipe the vision away.

I want you in my arms. To feel you snuggled in against me. Safe. you're alone. Spoon feeding the monster of your "rebel" pride. We are both damaged goods. Trapped in chaos and frozen by time.

I take the distance in strides. Like a closet addict.