Lacerate me. These were the only words I could recall uttering in my dream last night, my glyptic phantasms always made my sanity shake. Yet today was different, much to my displeasure I could hardly recall her.
As I peel myself from my bed, fuelled with contempt and trepidation I find those words reverberating in my mind. I try to extinguish her from my mind and draw myself to the monotony of the day by immersing myself in the clatter of chaos, the cacophony of cups, with cheap people gathering over even cheaper coffee as we all dream of a reality that equates to more than this. As the day drips by I’m lost in visions of her vivacious defilement. I count down the hours until we’re reunited trying my best to abjure the ever-burning ache that beats through me when I think of her. I know she needs me too.
I’ve always been lost in the light of day; the way the sun would illuminate the disarray in the world whilst judging us under its paralysing gaze. I live for the moment that exists between the silence and the dawn break. That’s when she comes to me. As the darkness creeps through me like a shadow, graciously cloaking me from the world. Making sure no one can ever see me unravelling, flinching and coiling. Not that many people meander by to taste the chaos that I’m poisoned by anyway. My fever is catching. It’s better to stand on the side lines than delve into my lurid madness. They don’t understand that she’s just like every other cunt waiting to tear you apart. But she’s different. She throws rope around me instead of my heart. She doesn’t give me the illusion that I have a choice to start. She just takes me and leads me to serendipity through my agony, devouring me, leaving only the pieces of me that needed to be, after her fingertips have inscribed poetry through her carnality, dominating me violently as my flesh tears. She always leaves me skilfully raw, if alive at all.
Just one look through her iridescent violent eyes is enough to leave me insatiably chastised. She has a delectable way of turning on the tap and drinking the sweet nectar of my pain. We share a cocktail of twisted sin, my perfect rapture.
You’ll come back again soon, won’t you?
By Amelia Vandergast