Fondling the Secret Parts of Your Body

I can't stop believing in the flip-flop digressions of your lies. They wrap me in hot and cold emotions. I like the distance I feel from you. It caresses me like a warm blanket used to cover the cold of winter snows. "You disgust me" you moan as I fondle the secret parts of your body. "Not as much as I disgust myself" I reply as I push my assertiveness into your waiting crevice of delight. We seem to enjoy the gripping nature of our hallucinations. Pretending we are this or that makes us strong. I like to toss your clothes into the dryer and pretend I have smashed in your brain. Still, I handle your lying with pleasure. Your words a never-ending cycle of different points of view. Most people prefer not to hear the truth and I am no different. Your spectrum of lies promises me a pot of deceit at the end of the rainbow. "You don't excite me" you proclaim. Your face an interesting mask of resentment. "Ah, but I don't excite myself anymore" I answer, with the proper level of disdain peppering my vocalization. I leave you to go to the store. In my mind I go to purchase some sort of toxic liquid to pour into your coffee. I think I would find it in myself to laugh if your face bloated as you gasped for air. We are the death. We are the beginning and the end of one another. Why can't I just stop reading your book? Why can't I just walk back to the hole I emerged from? It must be the need, the longing. We scream to everyone that we are independent, solitary beings. Yet, we are all afraid of of being alone.