The Moth Diaries

In the morning he loves you long, loud and hard, he leaves his fingerprints and lines behind; you read them like a story but can’t feel a thing. Someone has to give but there’s nothing to take. You try to heal, to mend, to glue something that is nowhere to be found, it’s too late, you pretended far too long, to believe in your own lie. Now you are tangled and lost in the reality that seems more like a recurring nightmare.

You light up another cigarette, the smoke becomes his ghost and you hold your breath, gently threading bony fingers through paling waves, curls and dips. Your heartbeat echoes in the cage of emptiness, your lungs ache from silent screams as you tangle both of your hands in your long hair, trying to pull tiredness and pain out through your head.

Your mouth whispers his name like a curse, your voice stumbles through vowels and consonants so desperate and raw and suddenly you are so scared, that you just want to blindly run somewhere, anywhere, nowhere, yet when you rise your feet get tangled in the sheets, your head becomes a kaleidoscope of pictures and memories and your mouth tastes red. You don’t rise, you don’t fall, the room moves in slow motion, your skin feels too big, your soul too naked and you wish for sleep but it won’t come.

“I love him.” You lie again, just when he walks through the door smelling, tasting like someone else.

“Only him.” You don’t fight him, when he loves you again on the floor,the carpet,against the wall; when he bites and scratches and leaves marks that destroy you. When he holds too tight and pushes too fast, when his kisses taste like strangers, when his touches are meant for another, when he breaks you to pieces and his smile no longer can save you.