Short Fiction Experiments

every morning after you learn the feeling has frozen

The hardest days are not the ones where I cry and wail but the ones where I wake up indifferent. Do I kill myself today or do I pick up my phone to see if I can fuck him taking on the same cadence as do I wear the red or the blue socks to the gym. Everything pouring out of the same cereal box and brought methodically to my mouth with the same cardboard texture.

If I decide to go over there he will put the bottle to my lips and I will suckle at the nectar like a baby. Something soft in the way I give my limbs to his hands to manipulate. Whenever he moans my flesh buzzes and we become a separate breed of animal, both our wetnesses sloshing forwards to completion. Against my tongue the taste of slick skin as I decide that hanging seems too painful and besides where will I find a suitable load-bearing pipe anyways. After the deed it is as if we are acquaintances who cannot touch or merge our hands.

My body is full of small ball bearings. I walk home alone and shaking. Slot a quarter between my thighs and twist my breast until my mouth pops open and the baubles clatter out.

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This entry was published on April 3, 2014 at 8:52 pm. It’s filed under determined to self-destruct, Drafts & Scraps, Fiction, lovers in glass boxes and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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