A Wobbly Body
I use my hands mainly to love.
When I see Jake, my 4 years old son, I would grab his stomach and fly him. He would laugh and then I would tickle him. That wasn’t sufficient affection I gave to him, so I pat his head and I’d hold his dearly body closer to mine. No words uttered, but I know that Jake got the picture that he is the best thing that ever happened to me.
So since Jake was gone, I didn’t get a chance to use my hands to love that much. My hands became agent of destruction. My fingers couldn’t count how many tables I flipped. The bandages did cover some of cuts on my hands, but the wounds from punching walls, people, televisions didn’t fade easily. God only knows how many times my middle fingers erected to politely people to fuck off. They could never understand the loss I’m dealing with.
Since Jake was dead, my eyes has been looking for Jake’s trace.
I’d took a longer time to look to Jake’s room. I also pass Jake’s daycare awfully slow. I might breath the air Jake used to breath that way. My eyes also brutally throwing tears to my unshaved cheeks, Jake was confined, since, and because of it, my legs become something wobbly.
Encounter With the Wicked Bitch
My first contact with the wicked bitch was snogging. That day, she was drinking alone in a bar wearing a black dress. All her body features, starting from her face until her collar bone and thigh and her tight breast making it okay to judge someone that call her ugly as a neutered queer. Her level of attractiveness was way up high, alluring me to heading to her stool, which I did. I sat beside her, ordered double scotch, doubled, and she opened a pack of cigarette. She burned one and inhaled it deeply and said, “Have you ever been cheated on?”
She was looking into something unreal in front of her, perhaps she was imagining hope. Then she was facing her flawless face into mine, a weird impulse quivered, something yelled to my lips to ruin hers so I forcibly kissed her.
Seems like she was so desperate because all she did was forcefully indulging my lips. I vaguely remembered salty tears around our tongue. She was starting to pant so she stopped our first made out and she started to talked about things that I don’t really care. I let her talk all she want.
That was just one of our other crazy made out that day.
Something has changed.
Air started boiling my lungs.
Around my gasping, I realized that water tasted rubbery.
I am seeing those useless trees as bowl filled with shame
Because whenever I saw them,
It reminded me of sun,
Something big that have never changed my world.
I thought on height places
How easy it was
To reach the maddening calmness
It was reachable
By one simple jump
Or walk, or gasp.
Living around the air which Jake used to breathe meant a torture. I couldn’t stop imagining maybe one day I would found Jake’s falling hair, or maybe even his trimmed nail. I wanted to burn my house. I wanted feel happiness in this tortured life. Yet I wanted to destroy myself and anything that I had contact with. Maybe if I willingly to destroy my world and myself, something might bring Jake back to live. The crazy hunch won’t stop whispering, taking my brain as a villain that won’t stop whispering self-destruct.
The first time I saw the wicked bitch naked, I saw hickeys on her. She has great features, I must admit. Her first best feature is her little mole on her back, just few inches below shoulder. There, I found two hickeys. If it is only her collar bone, I would not call her sexy. But that collar bone and that neck, that is a perfect collaboration and it’d be insane to not call it sexy. She is fit. She is absolutely not fat, but she is not disgustingly thin, so her collar bone pop the way collar bone should pop.
She is tall but and hunch a bit, that plus her neck is, so fucking alluring, on those amazing part I found five hickeys. Her nipples when it was erect looked a bit swollen, like it couldn’t wait to be ravished. Her breast is roughly around B cup, and there I found around 8 hickeys. I asked her, “you got so much hickeys.” She said, “you can put another as much as yo want,” and she dragged my head on her most sexiest part of her body, her hips and fat behind it. I joked and narrate all of our intercourse badly, I also told her she is ugly, I was rough with her yet seemed like she liked to be riddicule around. I think I can safely assume that her kinks towards men is weird.
“What are we?” I asked her.
She took her time to put her socks on and guessing, “Narcotic, I guess. Some kind of healthy meth.”
I snorted two seconds of scoff and I nodded, “Yeah, you’re right.”
She was fully dressed.
“I heard about what broke you. Pretty cheap gossip, though I loved to hear it.”
Anything didn’t feel funny for me that time.
“I heard that you had a boy.”
I was feeling so cold that second. I was even afraid that my heart wasn’t beating.
“Sorry that he died-“
I punched her a slap.
Her hair covered her face, her long neck seemed so meaningless,
Her body is on the floor and I was standing, unable to breathe.
Her lips bleeds, yet she laughed and she kissed me.
I said to her, “You are insane, wicked woman, you are a bitch.”
She laughed and she kept sucking my tongue, I could taste metallic-tasted blood around her sucking.
I don’t know why, but that time I thought she was really fragile and thin.
I pushed her, I whispered to her,
“What ruined you?”
I almost thought she was showing a weak expression,
I thought she was feeling pain.
Yet, she persistently kissing me.
Talking about the Obvious
A shoe is dirt, red shoe means elegance.
Legs means hairy, long legs belongs to a well-faced lady.
Living in the world where you’re free to love
The way world wants you to,
‘Have you fulfilled the requirement to be loved?’
I used to think I’ll have one grabbed tightly on my hands
I thought the world would stopped being ugly,
‘Mom, can I love that boy?’
‘Mom, can I love that?’
‘Mom, can I love?’
Look at that beautiful freak over there,
She is mental.
She does satanic deed,
Boy can I tell you how save your bleeding is
Or rather would you bite my lips.
‘She goes around and beating and getting beaten.’
I also think bird is something free.
You’re not a woman if you’re not able to cook.
The happy lost woman,
What I want is love and blood
“He surely loved her,
he was willing to bleed for her
“Sorry beautiful fallen maiden,
I can’t stay any longer,”
“Bear me a little longer,
“I really can’t stay,”
Once I find him,