Her fingers trailing my skin
Feels like nerve endings torn open in a surgery of lies.
Of: you are mine
Of: I am yours
Her lips speak of death and destruction,
But all I hear is the cacophony of her vowels
And the delicacy of her consonants.
She’s bad for you, people say,
And I ignore their words
Because I live in a world where violence is love,
And love is softness,
And softness is death,
And death is obsolete.
So with smiles and nods of assurance
I tell them I’m fine.
Fine like: a sharpened pencil scratching out song lyrics on a school desk
Fine like: the edges of teeth snagging on flesh
Fine like: I’m drowning but it’s okay, she breathes for me
Fine like: I can’t save myself, not this time
My world is a kaleidoscope and she’s the one turning, constantly turning
Everything upside down
And me inside out.
About Chiara Sullivan