Love taught me to lie.

Prayer to my lover. Journal entry from 2004.

We crave eachother desperately, feed on flesh that parts and puckers, submit and graduate hips grinding our sin. We bite and scratch to break skin making ourselves a little more raw. We're primal and it's satisfying to taste and mix blood, our rum, the juice, and a kiss of life before our joint parts become tools of incest. How is it possible for it to either become an obsessive necessity or single appeasable hunger and never look back? How many combinations and how many can your lover feel that same way with again as if to almost erase the love you made together? When are we ever special and when are we ever soulmates when had we not met the one we love we might be in love with someone else? Almost as if sometimes love happens by chance and not by a union predestined. If initially you could see everywhere like God and choose between anyone would you still choose them? I'd like to believe we were meant for one another, if not forever, then for the time, and that he couldn't have loved anyone else as he loves me, because I can't imagine loving anyone the way I love him. It was immature of me in the past to think of who I'd love next as if this would heal me. There was a time where I tricked myself into believing otherwise as a temporary anodyne but the heart wants what it wants and mine is starving. Empty chambers rely on thirsty vessels aching to drink a little more poison that awakens though abandons me in my own inferno. I've had to mold myself so many times to fill the spaces he empties and spread my flesh like clay to close these holes or the walls would leak with agony and so I hide this dying body. Every now and then I have to check its pulse to see if it still breathes.

There is more than one of me and this part that survives on her own and doesn't need her lover is able to progress and play the muscle for the languid girl inside. I feel as if each time I experience a different emotion, particularly at this time in my life, it penetrates me so deeply that I become enslaved to the feeling. I have seperated my selves so far from one another that I forget I can be this emotionally complex person in the center of a color wheel with each shade's intensity fading as it bleeds into the next. I just do what I have to do in order to get through this year but it is affecting us. I might be destroying our love, and though my great capacity to feel has not been tampered with, I have hardened. Petrified I am of becoming so thick I trap the fly inside a pretty shade of amber to deflect my stone-cold persuasion. And the insect will embody the core of everything that makes me vulnerable and all of my neglected ideals and romaticism. I have hardened, I do not believe to the core, but just enough to not cry myself to sleep every night nor fall victim to the violence of my limbs. I've taught my body to detox gracefully and crave less and my mind to block the fleeting stabs of longing's sharp infliction.

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

wow. this is deep, introspective and in parts primal writing. And my journal reads like a grocery list in comparison.
Nicely penned.

[Emily B]

again, I am swept away in your passion and skill with words . . . so glad I came by your work.

[Iota]

It was the title that drew me into this one. I had no idea it would be so strong and powerful. It is difficult to review because it was that good. I will just say bravo and take in what you said here.