She
laid there.
A warrior with a thick candy coated shell.
She
was more than just depraved and starved;
he was nothing to himself; yet,
unwilling choices brought them together.
She
smiled in a passive pleasure at the blood trickling off her flesh.
She was no
one when they met, yet he wanted to be her,
touch her,
her
perfume swelled in the air.
He looked at her, he saw himself; she knew
who he was.
She
allowed him to use her and yet refused him this desire.
The sweat spilling over his body, dripping down his back,
her flesh taunting in a perfect
way that demeaned him of his own vanishing manhood;
crawling onto her,
inhaling
her,
how he wanted to consume her and all that she meant to him.
There
was the smile,
emanating like a beacon from he knew not where.
He grabbed at her throat; the girl could
see heaven in his eyes.
Whatever was left of her innocence was bubbling to the
surface.
After all these years, she now knew where she was going. Her release
was with this
prosthetic-angel that had lost its way from heaven but could guide
her home.
The
man moved deeper,
holding her tighter, he could smell her aura upon him,
her
unwashed hair, and the bruises.
Broken pieces of her were sticking to him
like
so much garbage that it began to disgust him.
If the eyes are the windows to
the soul, he could see himself in her reflection.
So
much of him was in her, and vise versa, that it made him scream out,
she never
made a sound and simply invited him in.
The
control broken,
the illusion reversed, he fell on her, exhausted,
defeated,
beaten, he let go his hold on her.
The man began to shed his own tears, the
saline washing lines on her body.
His stomach wrenched, his heart, sore and
darkened.
This man-child lay upon his eternal mother of us all. He lifted
himself off of her,
a trail of snot, spit and tears following him from the
pooled reservoir on her flesh.
Her
eyes went blank,
he could see it, and they turned cold at the realization of
his own inadequacies;
her face undid his own frailties.
The
man knew, but was not capable of achieving
that which she had inaugurated him
to do.
Her truths closed in and shadowed the light that was in her.
He moved
onto the floor, lying atop the coldness of the room;
hearing the voices around
him and below him,
all life contained within this building and taken away on
the outside.
He lay naked upon the grime and dirt of worn souls and past lives;
he could hear her breathing and feel her heart beat in his skull.
He saw her move in the
darkness of the room, the only light filtered in from the street.
The man realized her salvation was close,
the door within reach and he failed to show her the
way.
He saw it shine in the dirty light.
Unbeknownst to him she had a piece of someone else’s love,
meant to
protect her, and with that love, she opened her own door
and entered with a
smile.
Her thoughts splattered on the wall
read by everyone who could
decipher the language.
In with a bang and the building fell silent.
