Putting The Dog To Sleep
Prologue
I
Before you fell in love with that boy, you fell for his name. Morrissey.
II
You fell in love with a broken boy, too thin and too hungry for this world, but he was everything you ever wanted, his knobbly knees and gawky steps – a constant buzzing pressure behind tightly shut eyelids.
His mouth was ugly, his paper thin lips too red and too swollen for your taste, yet you still fell in love with his very big and very ugly mouth.
III
He said there were monsters living behind the fence of his teeth and you believed him, because sometimes they crawled out and the boy did not belong to himself. Not anymore.
He was merely a shadow with no beginning or ending, just a dark smudge a silhouette forgotten on the wall.
IV
Morrissey’s life is a mess, when the first creature crawls out and you know it, but you stay still, too still and hold your breath, till the point when your lungs almost collapse.
“Are you alright, love” his voice is no longer his own, his posture strange, his skin foreign to the touch but you still love him, to the point that it hurts between lungs and ribs and you can’t stop wondering, are you?
V
One day you find him naked on the floor. He is sleeping, his breath ghosts across floorboards and you fall to your knees ungracefully trembling hands hovering above his bare form. You want to touch him, yet you can’t, because he won’t let you not until this fever will pass. You lie beside him, curl around him but still won’t touch
You pray and your words whisper on his skin.
You wake up alone, it’s cold and Morrissey stays hidden underneath the bed.
VI
Your skin is too small and too tight for your bones so you continuously try to shiver out of it, while Morrissey convulses on the floor. You think he looks lovely, you wish he would just bite his tongue and you are too angry for words too tired, so you stay still and quiet and cruel, just like one of the monsters. And for a moment just one damn moment you believe you are one of them.
When Morrissey wakes up, you smile; he smiles back, his ugly red mouth curling up.
Lovely.
VII
He holds his arms as wide as he can and you wonder if he is trying to fit the world in his hands.
“Come here.” He beckons, his fingers wiggling in half light and you feel just like a dog.
You snort in mirth, but you can’t keep yourself from stumbling on your first step and on the third too.
His arms close around you, yet you don’t feel trapped. Your laughter sounds like a misplaced hiccough in the cold room.
VIII
“You are late.” he tells you, just before you enter through the door, drenched to the bone with hands too heavy from grocery bags and books.
“You are late.” he insists, his foot trying to tap a melody of impatience through the rug and you grit your teeth in a tight lipped smile.
“You are late.” You frown and sigh, tiredly nodding your head. Yes, yes you are.
IX
You can’t stop writing down names or things on your arms, not until the pen runs out of ink or your skin out of space, but it’s impossible your handwriting too small and your words too insignificant.
You keep your mouth shut and suck in a jerky breath, when Morrissey licks all the M’s away. Your fingers clench around the pen until it breaks, spilling ink all over worlds that you have written down. They drown. You let them. Yes. You let him drown.
X
When the second creature crawls out Morrissey doesn’t sleep. He sits underneath your blue kitchen table and folds origami cranes.
His sharp shoulder blades stick out of his bent spine like bat wings and you spare him a shattered smile when he pushes you one of the birds, his rough fingertips almost touching yours.
Its ugly; creased and ripped at the edges, however you still cradle it to your chest lovingly and lay beside him, barely touching, just to feel his heartbeat on your skin.
He builds paper castles with brick walls as thick as his eyebrows, but there are too many windows to hide. With shutters, shades and cracks you still are able to break in. It’s painful. You’re obsessed, yet it’s already too late; you fell in love with a boy who doesn’t know how to love.
Before you fell in love with that boy, you fell for his name. Morrissey.
II
You fell in love with a broken boy, too thin and too hungry for this world, but he was everything you ever wanted, his knobbly knees and gawky steps – a constant buzzing pressure behind tightly shut eyelids.
His mouth was ugly, his paper thin lips too red and too swollen for your taste, yet you still fell in love with his very big and very ugly mouth.
III
He said there were monsters living behind the fence of his teeth and you believed him, because sometimes they crawled out and the boy did not belong to himself. Not anymore.
He was merely a shadow with no beginning or ending, just a dark smudge a silhouette forgotten on the wall.
IV
Morrissey’s life is a mess, when the first creature crawls out and you know it, but you stay still, too still and hold your breath, till the point when your lungs almost collapse.
“Are you alright, love” his voice is no longer his own, his posture strange, his skin foreign to the touch but you still love him, to the point that it hurts between lungs and ribs and you can’t stop wondering, are you?
V
One day you find him naked on the floor. He is sleeping, his breath ghosts across floorboards and you fall to your knees ungracefully trembling hands hovering above his bare form. You want to touch him, yet you can’t, because he won’t let you not until this fever will pass. You lie beside him, curl around him but still won’t touch
You pray and your words whisper on his skin.
You wake up alone, it’s cold and Morrissey stays hidden underneath the bed.
VI
Your skin is too small and too tight for your bones so you continuously try to shiver out of it, while Morrissey convulses on the floor. You think he looks lovely, you wish he would just bite his tongue and you are too angry for words too tired, so you stay still and quiet and cruel, just like one of the monsters. And for a moment just one damn moment you believe you are one of them.
When Morrissey wakes up, you smile; he smiles back, his ugly red mouth curling up.
Lovely.
VII
He holds his arms as wide as he can and you wonder if he is trying to fit the world in his hands.
“Come here.” He beckons, his fingers wiggling in half light and you feel just like a dog.
You snort in mirth, but you can’t keep yourself from stumbling on your first step and on the third too.
His arms close around you, yet you don’t feel trapped. Your laughter sounds like a misplaced hiccough in the cold room.
VIII
“You are late.” he tells you, just before you enter through the door, drenched to the bone with hands too heavy from grocery bags and books.
“You are late.” he insists, his foot trying to tap a melody of impatience through the rug and you grit your teeth in a tight lipped smile.
“You are late.” You frown and sigh, tiredly nodding your head. Yes, yes you are.
IX
You can’t stop writing down names or things on your arms, not until the pen runs out of ink or your skin out of space, but it’s impossible your handwriting too small and your words too insignificant.
You keep your mouth shut and suck in a jerky breath, when Morrissey licks all the M’s away. Your fingers clench around the pen until it breaks, spilling ink all over worlds that you have written down. They drown. You let them. Yes. You let him drown.
X
When the second creature crawls out Morrissey doesn’t sleep. He sits underneath your blue kitchen table and folds origami cranes.
His sharp shoulder blades stick out of his bent spine like bat wings and you spare him a shattered smile when he pushes you one of the birds, his rough fingertips almost touching yours.
Its ugly; creased and ripped at the edges, however you still cradle it to your chest lovingly and lay beside him, barely touching, just to feel his heartbeat on your skin.
He builds paper castles with brick walls as thick as his eyebrows, but there are too many windows to hide. With shutters, shades and cracks you still are able to break in. It’s painful. You’re obsessed, yet it’s already too late; you fell in love with a boy who doesn’t know how to love.