The Tears of South Carolina.
It's the last time...
I'll shame myself, this skin will never drink again...
my lips will tumble, escaping from the frown that sits above my chin, I'll
taste loneliness and the shadow of forever as I run my tongue across the silhouette of
dishonesty...
and I'll starve, I'll lose my waist as he wraps arms, legs, hands and
lies
around me.
This...
is December, he found me somewhere hidden in these weeks, years ago...
he decided my fate and it doesn't snow here...
the days are all identical, the sky blinks only when she's bored and I've experienced
totality in the mocking indifference of these Southern seasons but tomorrow I'll have
goosebumps, I'll feel the chill of finality and the demise of my dreams.
He's...
broken, I've cut my hands trying to pick him up, I've smeared my blood across these
unforgiving walls and the
whispers, they echo,
I can still hear myself begging for mercy
I can still
hear
him bruise me.
My thighs ache for him, just slide themselves across the abyss of silence and my curls
scream for the intertwining of his fingertips...
my skin
drinks the dreams he shattered, thirsty, dry...
and bleeding...
for salvation.
This...
will be the last time December drops from my eyes, the sunset sits on the edge of my gaze,
I'll reward my body with the feel of him, I'll
suffer my skin and shame my lips...
as he validates my pain...
and I'll starve, as barren as the summer sun, I'll
be the tears of South Carolina
and his only
saving
grace.
Copyright © Jeanmarie Marchese | Year Posted 2009
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