Death Goes On
Being beautiful, bold, and bright
Wake up, thin film of sweat stuck to skin, disgusting. Fight way out of the blankets, the disgusting close bed; stumble to the bathroom, spit up some blood.
Don't care, do that most mornings, more surprised when all that comes up is thick, green and yellow phlegm. Motto? Doesn't hurt: not a problem.
Cold tiles against , sweat drying off skin but remains damp and cool against clothes. Not sure whether not to return to the cloying embrace of Bed.
We had a charmed romance, how we lit up the night
Do, of course, in the end. Always do. Don't want to move, don't want to move, don't want to fucking move. Not again, not yet.
Someone pads in, puts something down, don't have to open eyes to know who or what.
Can't open mouth to speak, say nothing instead.
He - of course he sits down, hand on too hot shoulder, says, made breakfast for you, if you can eat it.
Can't eat it, course not. Wouldn't matter, wouldn't fucking keep it down anyway.
He slides under covers, too much heat, jeans burning bare skin.
No clothes, not when like this, not when dying.
His hands on soft, burning breast, his mouth opens again. Don't have to see the look on his face to know that what he says is gonna be no fucking good.
Why do you do this yourself, you stupid whore, says he. If you want fucking up the arse I'd gladly do it for you. No need to get so fucking disgusting, so sick.
Ignore the words, he's a stupid git, he knows it. Always sick, always. Nothing gonna make it better, only ever gets worse.
So fuck it, fuck it, and him, the consequences, everything. Fuck it all.
Scream and snarl, scratch and bite
Cigarettes.
This time the blood hurts, knew it would. Painful. So fucking painful. This is a problem, but there's no solution. Just change the sheets, death goes on.
Kisses. He kisses away the blood. Wish it was an infection, so he could kiss that away too.
Clinging together
Go out, later, when speech is once again possible.
Too hot, too loud, too smokey. Too many people. Too much alcohol. Can feel it, pulsing through veins like blood, absorbing into dying lungs.
Hands against breasts, again, lips against neck. His touch is too gentle, too loving. Prefer it when he's being a dick.
Head lolls back against his shoulders, arms drop to sides. Out in the cool, in the dark, can almost breathe okay. First time all day.
Dance through the long dark night
Back again, to deathbed. Fuck, fuck, fuck again. Fuck until climax, fuck until the breath stops and the blood starts, pouring out of mouth. Sheets stained; blood and cum, the usual.
Hurts, but it doesn't matter. No cure. Rather take the pain than the numbing uselessness of prescription drugs.
Breath back.
Fuck again.
Dance you fiends, tear a hole through the night
Morning. Wake up, claw dying body from tangled sheets. Bathroom sink. Spit blood and phlegm, like always, blood and phlegm.
Return to bed.
Death goes on.
Through hell and bad weather
A week later. Perhaps more. Passing out all the time. Smoking too much, can barely get out of bed. Barely enough energy to vomit. The end is nigh.
Still fucking all the time, but he's the only one who comes anymore. He knows it too: death is standing in the door.
Door slams open, slams shut. Don't have to opens eyes, barely have to be conscious to know who it is and to know that he's no fucking good.
What is this, he demands, voice a livid screech, what the hell is this.
Can't open eyes, can't hardly breathe, don't reply.
You stupid bitch, you stupid sick whore. Marissa will see this, Marissa.
Don't know what he's talking about, don't care. Be gone real soon now, can feel it.
Marissa. Marissa's his virgin girlfriend. Only met once. She knows he's cheating. Everyone does.
Fingers grab ear, harsh whisper you will pay for this you sick fuck.
Don't react; can't.
His hands meet soft, stupid, defenceless flesh and don't stop and the pain is new but just as intense. More blood on the sheets, the room fills with gurgling and hacking: lungs trying to expel the mucus and the blood but I'm drowning in it and I can't move and I'm watching from deep inside my body, rejoicing because finally I'm going to die.
Don't care, do that most mornings, more surprised when all that comes up is thick, green and yellow phlegm. Motto? Doesn't hurt: not a problem.
Cold tiles against , sweat drying off skin but remains damp and cool against clothes. Not sure whether not to return to the cloying embrace of Bed.
We had a charmed romance, how we lit up the night
Do, of course, in the end. Always do. Don't want to move, don't want to move, don't want to fucking move. Not again, not yet.
Someone pads in, puts something down, don't have to open eyes to know who or what.
Can't open mouth to speak, say nothing instead.
He - of course he sits down, hand on too hot shoulder, says, made breakfast for you, if you can eat it.
Can't eat it, course not. Wouldn't matter, wouldn't fucking keep it down anyway.
He slides under covers, too much heat, jeans burning bare skin.
No clothes, not when like this, not when dying.
His hands on soft, burning breast, his mouth opens again. Don't have to see the look on his face to know that what he says is gonna be no fucking good.
Why do you do this yourself, you stupid whore, says he. If you want fucking up the arse I'd gladly do it for you. No need to get so fucking disgusting, so sick.
Ignore the words, he's a stupid git, he knows it. Always sick, always. Nothing gonna make it better, only ever gets worse.
So fuck it, fuck it, and him, the consequences, everything. Fuck it all.
Scream and snarl, scratch and bite
Cigarettes.
This time the blood hurts, knew it would. Painful. So fucking painful. This is a problem, but there's no solution. Just change the sheets, death goes on.
Kisses. He kisses away the blood. Wish it was an infection, so he could kiss that away too.
Clinging together
Go out, later, when speech is once again possible.
Too hot, too loud, too smokey. Too many people. Too much alcohol. Can feel it, pulsing through veins like blood, absorbing into dying lungs.
Hands against breasts, again, lips against neck. His touch is too gentle, too loving. Prefer it when he's being a dick.
Head lolls back against his shoulders, arms drop to sides. Out in the cool, in the dark, can almost breathe okay. First time all day.
Dance through the long dark night
Back again, to deathbed. Fuck, fuck, fuck again. Fuck until climax, fuck until the breath stops and the blood starts, pouring out of mouth. Sheets stained; blood and cum, the usual.
Hurts, but it doesn't matter. No cure. Rather take the pain than the numbing uselessness of prescription drugs.
Breath back.
Fuck again.
Dance you fiends, tear a hole through the night
Morning. Wake up, claw dying body from tangled sheets. Bathroom sink. Spit blood and phlegm, like always, blood and phlegm.
Return to bed.
Death goes on.
Through hell and bad weather
A week later. Perhaps more. Passing out all the time. Smoking too much, can barely get out of bed. Barely enough energy to vomit. The end is nigh.
Still fucking all the time, but he's the only one who comes anymore. He knows it too: death is standing in the door.
Door slams open, slams shut. Don't have to opens eyes, barely have to be conscious to know who it is and to know that he's no fucking good.
What is this, he demands, voice a livid screech, what the hell is this.
Can't open eyes, can't hardly breathe, don't reply.
You stupid bitch, you stupid sick whore. Marissa will see this, Marissa.
Don't know what he's talking about, don't care. Be gone real soon now, can feel it.
Marissa. Marissa's his virgin girlfriend. Only met once. She knows he's cheating. Everyone does.
Fingers grab ear, harsh whisper you will pay for this you sick fuck.
Don't react; can't.
His hands meet soft, stupid, defenceless flesh and don't stop and the pain is new but just as intense. More blood on the sheets, the room fills with gurgling and hacking: lungs trying to expel the mucus and the blood but I'm drowning in it and I can't move and I'm watching from deep inside my body, rejoicing because finally I'm going to die.
♠ ♠ ♠
Dance, my love, dance through the long dark night. Through our black circumstance, into the broad daylight.