viii. through open roads

it starts from your hands moving slowly, deliberately,  

like tracing a map only you can read.  

soft, but burning,   

a cold fire sinking into my skin,  

filling every vein like black ink spilled in water.  

then i let you in, let you take,

let you carve me into something you could hold.  

tell me, then

who was i, if not yours for the night?  

and still, you linger,

in the flicker of blue-lit ceilings,  

in the sheets wrinkled writing our mistakes,  

in the way i tremble when pleasure finds me alone.  

then i think of you.  

i think of how you pressed me open,  

how you stole every sound from my throat, 

and left me nothing but silence after.  

halfway through it, i cry out “no”, and you never stop.  

because you know i like it like that.  

know i’ll take it like i was made for this,  

like i was made entirely, merely for you.  

then fingernails digging into my thighs;

restraints made of skin,  

of breath, of your voice telling me to stay still.  

and i stay still.  

then i break for you.  

again.  

the clock is still ticking, showing how much time has passed, and how it'll end in no time.

it was never love, but i keep calling it that.  

it was never safe, but i still dream of your arms.  

even now, i let you fill me,  

through songs, through memories, through regrets.  

i know i don't need you, but i don’t know how to let go.  

so take what’s left. of me. of everything. 

take it all.  

and i’ll keep pretending it was never mine to keep.

p.s; thanks to ethel for writing “head in the walls” which led to this one hell of a writing. enjoy!