Fallacies

I hold on to the belief that one day, I will be able to pack my bags, emotion and apprehension and leave this place.

******

I had a dream, one that made me wake up feeling like someone had carved a hole in my already-hollowed chest.

You were holding me from the back; writing ineligible scribbles on my arched back, while mocking my imperfect body. You knew that I needed to be criticised to be submissive. Strangely, I took it all in without any objections.

You spoke and your voice echoed in my mind - the rhythm of your deep voice reverberated in my ears and sent chills to my spine, further arousing my sensory. “What are we?” I remember thinking.

Your wife is beautiful – and I wanted to be her. She’s perfect, unlike me, with my messy hair, corpulent body and neurotic psyche.

We spent the entire “dream-time” just holding on to each other, knowing that that’s the only bond that held us together. We only acknowledge the physical and ignored the emotional ties and mental connections that would have made it all perfect.

I bit into your bicep, hard and you gave a low scream – every bite into your skin is your punishment - Your punishment for not being mine; your punishment for making me want you in such a demented manner; your punishment for being bad for me.

This is my little game – I transfer my angst and guilt to you by biting you. I love biting you. My gums feel sated, and my heart feels light – because it means that you’re real and you’re near.

I turned back to face you, wanting to feel your stubbles on my face but you became faceless. Before I could even start to cry, you simply disappeared.

Who are you? Who am I?
I know who I want to be, but I just cannot be the one you want.

******

I love the damp smell in the air before the rain hits.
I love the scent of soap on your skin before your cigarette smoke masked it all up. I love smelling the back of your ear, a mixture of perspiration and brylcreem.

Another week, another roller-coaster ride. All I want is for you to ride with me.
Be with me, now?