Pastels on light pastel paper, beige-y colour. dimpled. like me.
90 × 60 cm
I wrote this to/of/about my ex-fiance… It started as an edit of an old and abject piece of writing until i realized that I was writing of her and only her. Little remains of the old version.
Less remains of her and I. She is lost to me. I miss her. I miss her. I miss her.
For her, for her, noble and flush with courage a goddess of will an immolation extant endless pain, pain fire-forged and hurt and hurt and hurt so it breaks my heart i weep for her and weep for her yet.
I have a huge lack of understanding.
That sentence was supposed to continue, but stopped somehow. Burns me up. You even have Cat In The Hat Pajamas, giant stripy socks, a storm-trooper helmet!
I mean, how cool is that?
So. Today is a day for honest extremity. I want you BACK, want you here, want you sweaty smiling and exhausted in my bed. I have seen your hands, your arms, your fey form entire – a stunning sweetness incarnate but the scars such scars, oh my love.
I held your hand for those moments and the ferocity of your need left soft drying smears on my fingers.
If we can’t… if you are too broken… if we have to let that hunger and need slip from us like the years we have lost… oh no oh my love, no…
Skid sharp away from each other? Like the beauty that once preceded you (it lingers still as mine own skitters dying into the sun); each step you take easing each door open before you. I have the grace of a hunched stagger, leaking cigarette smoke and exhaustion.
If we can’t… and it curls and curdles into unloveliness. Like the tight line of your frightened lips. Like the broken veins in my nose. Like our scars. Like my teeth, rotting from some obscure reaction to one of the medications.
I want to be
How often do you lie a day? Think about it.
Fire your heart with the scene of you, and I;
Coming to each other and saying:
“Well, today, I really thought about suicide, and I had to make myself eat even though it made me want to puke. I felt each movement I took as a jarring blow. I spoke to other people… other creatures in the world even though I could not find my breath and I gasped and clenched my uncertain weak fists. I still spoke because I had to I had to and I stuttered and the rope the knife the swell rotten and sweet in every turn and thought, the fear booming in my heart shivering through my curled tiny feet as I step through the world.
“But I am alive and I have my hands before me and my scars are old. I have lied well enough, for this time at least.
“I thought it took all the strength that I have to do these things, but it took more to tell them to you.”
Speaking truths to each other! without pre-amble! or any kind of ambling! (ambling is just NOT on the cards!) Imagine!
Want to come around..?
We could compare remembered fantasies about all that we thought we’d be and aren’t. We could talk about the kids we might have had by now if we had have screwed up a little more seriously than we were lucky we didn’t. We could… we could…
No. Really. Chance it. Open the inlaid box with all the warnings and ‘do not open before lunchtime’ stickers. The one graven with runes its black skin seething with glyphs, arcane and wicked. Open it, all of your will and the enormity of your courage mean nothing, NOTHING, if we are dust! If we miss it.
If we miss it, babe, oh… no.
Can you still see me? with all that life getting in your eyes?
Have you seen this?
As my sweet skin loosens? As I fade and gray before your eyes?
Do you know me?
Can we heal enough, in the sweat slickened raptures of summer lust, to eat from each other’s bodies?
In each other?