Like Glass.


He’s got these eyes. They’re big, real big, translucent and liquid like ice, ice and fire and diamond glass that sparkles in misleading light, reflect and shine and almost fuckin’ blind me. And they’re green-hazel-jade-emerald-fucking beautiful. It makes me sick almost; sick with jealously and possessiveness that I’m sure never existed before. ‘Cause I’m not like that, y’know? It’s just not me, but I can’t fuckin’ help it, ’cause they’re just so, so…gorgeous. Like glass. Yeah, like glass.

He’s there now, with his big liquid-glass eyes and honeyed skin that seems to just go on forever, and I’ve got that sick feeling again; it’s clawing at my insides, ripping me apart and it just wants to get out, get the fuck out but I won’t let it, ‘cause it wants to mess up his pretty face ‘cause it makes me so fuckin’ sick.

I can’t even think anymore, and I can’t hear, feel… but I can see, I can see alright, I can see those big olive-glass eyes and they’re staring right at me, right into my fuckin’ soul and I’m terrified, petrified, ‘cause I know he can see it and I don’t want him to, don’t want him to know what I want to do to that pretty face of his, in the middle of the night when it’s pitch-black and safe, safe, safe.

Or at least it used to be.

It used to be my favourite time, the middle of the night; trapped in some blissful insomnia, satin soft skin melded to my own like wax, pretty face hidden by a dark curtain, prettier eyes locked safely away from the world. At night, there was nothing but pretty skin, and that was okay, ‘cause it didn’t make me feel so sick, and that gnashing, clawing, biting, breaking was almost bearable.

But now; now the suns still up and it’s searing, burning, melting wax and revealing secrets that should be hidden in shadows, and I don’t fuckin’ like it, ‘cause that glass is too bright, too alive and it makes me sick, sick, sick to my fuckin’ stomach.

And he’s still watching me, and he won’t stop, won’t stop charring my insides with his fire-ice-glass eyes, and it hurts, it fuckin’ hurts so much and it makes me so sick that I can’t help but want to smash his pretty little face into pretty little shards.

And I can feel now, feel him and he’s under me and those glass eyes are still watching me, and I can feel his hands on my back and they’re so fuckin’ soft but it doesn’t feel right, and I can feel his fingers scraping my skin and they’re cutting, cutting into by back but there’s no blood pouring out ‘cause it’s all gone, eaten up by that thing that wants to get out, and it’s still there, and it’s still trying and fuck, I don’t know if I can stop it anymore.

But I have to, have to, have to.

And then it’s warm, so fuckin’ warm and comforting and fuck, fuck, his hands are clawing now, and he’s fuckin’ arching and I can feel every breath he takes, and his mouth is open and wordless poetry is spilling off his tongue and for a second I’m just so fuckin’ lost, and I love it so, so much and I don’t want it to stop.

But it is, it’s stopping, leaving, and I don’t want it to stop ‘cause then I’ll feel sick again and I don’t want that. God, I don’t want that.

And he’s smiling now, and he’s got perfect fuckin’ teeth to match his perfect eyes, perfect face, perfect body, perfect self.

And I can’t help it, I can’t fuckin’ help it and- oh god, fuck, fuck, fuck, stop, stop, stop!