Consumed

x

turn off the lights and turn off the shyness
all of our moves make up for the silence
and oh, the way your make-up stains my pillowcase
like i'll never be the same

x

The meanings of love and need were lost somewhere in translation. Lost somewhere in tongues and groping, in bodies pressed harshly together and sighs and moans (no longer sure of which were pleasure and which were pain). "I love you's" and "I need you's" blurred together, becoming indistinguishable, tangled up and muffled by kisses too hard on the lips and fingers that pressed too hard against the skin. Everything else fell away when they were pressed together, skin-to-skin, hearts racing and breathing hard, grasping his shoulders too tightly while he pulled her hair too hard, running her nails down his back just to leave the marks – because he was hers (and the bruises on her arms and legs from the passion he was too discordant about to prove she was his). Somewhere in the way his calloused hands were delicate and insistent, pressing, touching, caressing and pulling and bruising, somewhere in it she knew he loved her. This was how he showed her. And somewhere in the way her nails bit into his skin, and the way her elegant skin flushed with the flutter of his lips, the way her hips bucked against his when he held her hard pressed between him and a surface (usually the wall but she didn't care because it was him), he knew she loved him. This was how she showed him.

Somewhere in the dark they lost any chance of light. It was just easier in the darkness (she could hide the tear stains on her face and he could hide the sorrow no one knew was there). They hid in the shadows of their lives, trying frantically to fill some emptiness with each other. His insistent, needy kisses left her lips red and swollen, their teeth clashing together unceremoniously, leaving the bitter taste of blood in his mouth (and the bitter taste of regret for having nothing better than this life to give her). This way she could pretend he was enough to fill the hole in her and the little gaps left behind from the pieces of her self she lost along the way; this way when she felt him inside of her, she could pretend she was whole for just a few moments (helplessly feeling more empty than she had when he slips out of her and leaves her glistening from sweat, shivering and sticky).

Somewhere in the lives they had chosen together (because it was the closest thing to love they knew) was the shadow of a memory of a little boy and a little girl who could have been so much more than this.