Playing With Puppets
Chapter Two
When you come in that evening, you’re far more relaxed and I know immediately that tonight I can pretend we’re just another normal couple, I can pretend that the bruises you gave me only last night don’t exist and I can make-believe that everything’s okay.
You kiss my neck and you ask about my day and I chirp about finishing that book I was reading while he smiles and listens, and then I ask if he’s hungry and should I put some tea on…
“Leave it, Zacky.” He grins. “God, you’re like a fucking housewife.”
This makes me blush and I don’t know what to say.
“You know I love you, right, Zacky?”
I swallow once, trying to pick up my nerves enough to say it.
“I love you too, Syn.”
The last time I uttered those words, I was forcing them from my mouth with the last breath I had left in my body.
It’s hard to remember,
What the blackbird said,
He said so much and cried a lot,
And now he’s all too dead.
Curled up on the couch together, your arm around my waist, and we’re eating a pizza I threw in the microwave for dinner, knowing that no matter how many times you claim not to be hungry, you normally want food like, ten minutes later.
I wanted to put Sid and Nancy on, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to show you how to use a knife properly, so I let you choose the film, but it’s Sid and Nancy anyway and I’m trying to figure out if you’d hurt me if I sucked you off to distract you from the ending.
Too late and, oh, god, he hurt her, and she’s bleeding and I feel your arm tighten around my waist slightly as my breath catches in my throat.
And she’s dead… and is that what’s to become of me? But I don’t think so because I’m not into drugs and as far as I know, neither are you.
And then the credits are rolling and I suggest quietly that we should go to bed but you just sit there and stare at the screen, so I kiss your cheek quickly and leave, stripping down to my boxers and crawling into bed and waiting for the bed to sink down on your side, waiting for your warm body against my own.
But when you do crawl in beside me, and I kiss you, your cheeks are wet and I want to ask why you’re crying, but the words freeze up in my throat and so I don’t say anything at all.
Life’s so simple,
But so unfair,
Why do roses have thorns?
Why don’t you care?
Another night passes
Another day grows
And you’re still beside me,
The thorns on my rose.
You kiss my neck and you ask about my day and I chirp about finishing that book I was reading while he smiles and listens, and then I ask if he’s hungry and should I put some tea on…
“Leave it, Zacky.” He grins. “God, you’re like a fucking housewife.”
This makes me blush and I don’t know what to say.
“You know I love you, right, Zacky?”
I swallow once, trying to pick up my nerves enough to say it.
“I love you too, Syn.”
The last time I uttered those words, I was forcing them from my mouth with the last breath I had left in my body.
It’s hard to remember,
What the blackbird said,
He said so much and cried a lot,
And now he’s all too dead.
Curled up on the couch together, your arm around my waist, and we’re eating a pizza I threw in the microwave for dinner, knowing that no matter how many times you claim not to be hungry, you normally want food like, ten minutes later.
I wanted to put Sid and Nancy on, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to show you how to use a knife properly, so I let you choose the film, but it’s Sid and Nancy anyway and I’m trying to figure out if you’d hurt me if I sucked you off to distract you from the ending.
Too late and, oh, god, he hurt her, and she’s bleeding and I feel your arm tighten around my waist slightly as my breath catches in my throat.
And she’s dead… and is that what’s to become of me? But I don’t think so because I’m not into drugs and as far as I know, neither are you.
And then the credits are rolling and I suggest quietly that we should go to bed but you just sit there and stare at the screen, so I kiss your cheek quickly and leave, stripping down to my boxers and crawling into bed and waiting for the bed to sink down on your side, waiting for your warm body against my own.
But when you do crawl in beside me, and I kiss you, your cheeks are wet and I want to ask why you’re crying, but the words freeze up in my throat and so I don’t say anything at all.
Life’s so simple,
But so unfair,
Why do roses have thorns?
Why don’t you care?
Another night passes
Another day grows
And you’re still beside me,
The thorns on my rose.