Fitted

I woke up drenched in your affluence. A lonely thread distending out of me, you had been at work again. The ever clever tailor of my fervor. My skin cried colors that I had seen in your eyes, every bit of me already missed you. Like an octopus' epidermis, my body tried to correlate hues... I had to find some way of remembering you. A chorus of throbs sang songs of pitiful hope, with every beat.. I felt what you had left inside of me. I could see your hands cradling vitality, you struck chords beneath my skin.. composing my tone to fit your need. You robbed me, of me. And left me in need of you. I don't know if it was some kind of slanted self defense, or morbid curiosity but my hands became excavators and I dug deep into myself hoping to find the answers. Maybe I could find the notes, a harmonic map to sympathize your will with my own. I just had to understand. Why. But there was nothing. I drug my fingers slowly beneath the dome of bone as if I were fishing for hope. But there was nothing. No hint of why, no glimmer of your reflection. Only a poorly sutured bag of what could only be described as frailty. The adrenaline once thick, became laxed under the weight of realization and I choked on the hysterics of being undone. I'm no surgeon. Just a frantic boy bleeding out in his own living room staring into his chest, begging his surrogate heart to keep beating. "I don't want to die like this." -James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.