Oh, Dolores.
1/1
And she talked in her sleep. She said silly, nonsensical things. Secret mumblings through her tic-tac pristine teeth. Soft and cool. She smelled like a girl but thought like a boy.
oh, don’t you remember? the way that shot rang through?
Right now, it’s chilly. The red green yellows of last night’s leaves brush against the windows. Her lips are pressed into the hollow of my throat. She is mumbling and the leaves are whispering music notes at the window.
you rang hot like a bell. cold as night.
It’s times like this that I get scared. Past midnight. Dark sky and dark mind and the moon is just this subtle slice of light in everything. It’s soft like a name just slid off the tongue. Easily forgotten about. Even with her by my side, I feel helplessly alone. Alone and listening to her talk crazy.
don’t you remember?
She’s wearing her cornflower blue nightgown. It’s twisted about her legs. She’s wringing her hands. Sometimes she frowns. Or laughs. She curses and muffles moans.
And she’ll wake up and not remember a thing.
oh, fuck it. just give it to me.
It’s cold. Freezing, really. Her breath is hot at my throat. Her voice is soft and shrouded with sleep. Coated in a layer of stagnant saliva. It’s scary. How she says other people’s names. Talks about things that never happened. Things that never will. She sings novels in her sleep. Fiction. Things that aren’t real. They aren’t real. They can’t be. I try to listen to the whispering of the leaves instead. The steady whish whish whish. Urging me on. Trying to lull me to sleep.
oh, babe.
whish whish whish
fuck it.
whish
darling, you remember.
whish
oh, Dolores.
My name isn’t Dolores.
oh, don’t you remember? the way that shot rang through?
Right now, it’s chilly. The red green yellows of last night’s leaves brush against the windows. Her lips are pressed into the hollow of my throat. She is mumbling and the leaves are whispering music notes at the window.
you rang hot like a bell. cold as night.
It’s times like this that I get scared. Past midnight. Dark sky and dark mind and the moon is just this subtle slice of light in everything. It’s soft like a name just slid off the tongue. Easily forgotten about. Even with her by my side, I feel helplessly alone. Alone and listening to her talk crazy.
don’t you remember?
She’s wearing her cornflower blue nightgown. It’s twisted about her legs. She’s wringing her hands. Sometimes she frowns. Or laughs. She curses and muffles moans.
And she’ll wake up and not remember a thing.
oh, fuck it. just give it to me.
It’s cold. Freezing, really. Her breath is hot at my throat. Her voice is soft and shrouded with sleep. Coated in a layer of stagnant saliva. It’s scary. How she says other people’s names. Talks about things that never happened. Things that never will. She sings novels in her sleep. Fiction. Things that aren’t real. They aren’t real. They can’t be. I try to listen to the whispering of the leaves instead. The steady whish whish whish. Urging me on. Trying to lull me to sleep.
oh, babe.
whish whish whish
fuck it.
whish
darling, you remember.
whish
oh, Dolores.
My name isn’t Dolores.