Down Poison
By Cailin Humphrys
Yay! A new ficlet is up-I've been so busy with The Tango Maureen and Numb that I haven't posted some of the one-shot-deals I've written. So here it is, enjoy!
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I can't help myself. I love Maureen. Sometimes, well ok, most of the time, she drives me insane. She's like a disease in my blood that refuses to drain. Sometimes, I imagine myself leaving her for good, just forgetting her and her antics. I can see the independent person I was, the one I was before I met Maureen, storming out the door and never looking back. I can picture Maureen in my mind's eye, crying and pleading while I harshly cast her aside. But my eyes could never burn colder than her, and her tears will always fall with more lies than mine. I've seen Maureen cry, sure, but they've never been real, heartbroken tears. Those kinds of tears have always come from me. It's always me challenging her authority but then begging her not to get mad, not to leave. I'm never right, always wrong, and I can never leave. I'll never be strong enough. If only, when Maureen and I are lying in the dark, sweaty and hot from touching each other, from hard loving, she would just lean over and look at me for real. If only her "I love you, pookie" seemed to sound more sincere. I could do without the "pookie" too, just to hear her say my name.just to hear her say, "I love you." I know it won't happen though. She's Maureen, after all-irresistible, irreversible, insincere Maureen. She acts like I don't even exist sometimes. I often wonder how much her other lovers exist for her. Are they better in bed, nicer, blinder to her flaws? She could at least be more discreet about being unfaithful. It's just a pattern now, one that any fool could pick up on. But that's me, I'm that fool who thought that she could really see me for me, love me for me. I already know when she's planning to go get drunk and then get laid by the first person who asks. She'll smell really good, and have dressed really sexy.and then tell me she's going to visit her mother, or going to a friend's house. Then she'll come home hung over and disheveled. She'll be distant and strange, and she'll squirm when I touch her. It's almost like she can't bear to have me touch her when she knows someone else just did. I just can't leave her though.cause there are those times, those precious few moments where she'll look at me in the morning like I'm the only one she can see, like I'm the only one that matters. But then the poison reacts with my bloodstream, ad I am no longer whole. She is pure down poison.
Yay! A new ficlet is up-I've been so busy with The Tango Maureen and Numb that I haven't posted some of the one-shot-deals I've written. So here it is, enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I can't help myself. I love Maureen. Sometimes, well ok, most of the time, she drives me insane. She's like a disease in my blood that refuses to drain. Sometimes, I imagine myself leaving her for good, just forgetting her and her antics. I can see the independent person I was, the one I was before I met Maureen, storming out the door and never looking back. I can picture Maureen in my mind's eye, crying and pleading while I harshly cast her aside. But my eyes could never burn colder than her, and her tears will always fall with more lies than mine. I've seen Maureen cry, sure, but they've never been real, heartbroken tears. Those kinds of tears have always come from me. It's always me challenging her authority but then begging her not to get mad, not to leave. I'm never right, always wrong, and I can never leave. I'll never be strong enough. If only, when Maureen and I are lying in the dark, sweaty and hot from touching each other, from hard loving, she would just lean over and look at me for real. If only her "I love you, pookie" seemed to sound more sincere. I could do without the "pookie" too, just to hear her say my name.just to hear her say, "I love you." I know it won't happen though. She's Maureen, after all-irresistible, irreversible, insincere Maureen. She acts like I don't even exist sometimes. I often wonder how much her other lovers exist for her. Are they better in bed, nicer, blinder to her flaws? She could at least be more discreet about being unfaithful. It's just a pattern now, one that any fool could pick up on. But that's me, I'm that fool who thought that she could really see me for me, love me for me. I already know when she's planning to go get drunk and then get laid by the first person who asks. She'll smell really good, and have dressed really sexy.and then tell me she's going to visit her mother, or going to a friend's house. Then she'll come home hung over and disheveled. She'll be distant and strange, and she'll squirm when I touch her. It's almost like she can't bear to have me touch her when she knows someone else just did. I just can't leave her though.cause there are those times, those precious few moments where she'll look at me in the morning like I'm the only one she can see, like I'm the only one that matters. But then the poison reacts with my bloodstream, ad I am no longer whole. She is pure down poison.