Clint smiles as he rises from his stooping position. Oh, the things you find in Natasha's nightstand.
The book has the words DO NOT READ engraved across the spine. It is jagged and dirty.
Day One:
Clint, don't read this shit. I told you to stay out of my stuff.
Seriously, you can put it down now.
Thank you.
xoxo
I can't think of a fucking title, I told you to stop looking at this. Stop judging me.
I have this sinking feeling that love
is for children, and only rabbits
fuck like we do and consider it a
job
well
done.
You kissed me under willow trees
and forgot my name,
so instead of whispering something
meaningful, you
call me a
widow.
I retch into the corner,
ashamed of my body, and you light a dark
cigar that smells of wine
and blackberries.
I feel dissociated
and
somnambulant
in a torrent of smoky wishes that crash
amongst the rocks.
Do you know what it's like?
To be unmade?
I am
the shrieking killdeer
that disappears when a dog wanders
just
too
close.
this nightmare is endless and my life,
worthless.
tendrils of smoke and chains encircle my wrists
and pull me down.
I am little else but your
paid for harlot,
and you, a solemn
nightwalker, mixed in a mugging that has
gone too far.
I know they sent you to end my life,
but you made a different call.
So show me, can you touch me with featherlight
caresses that leave me breathless?
My vision is bathed in red
and staggered with circling hawks,
corpse pickers that
call me to my end.
Remake me.
Show the rabbits
they
are
wrong.