Tag Archives: pig

77. sometimes i just need to know that you won’t die

the week is nearly over. again.
and it feels like rain on skin in the heat of summer, raising goosebumps in spite of its warmth.

i never want anything to end.
not even nightmares.
i drag them out carefully, tossing and turning, roasting, like a pig, in my own cold sweat.
i had one every night this week. sometimes two. and i remember. i don’t keep tabs on my subconsiousness because it scares me. the brutality of the mind always scares me. and i dream of death. of death and failure.
y flores. flores para los muertos.

right now, my world is a house made of paper: cards with pretty scribbles on them, where blanche‘s words i lived in a house where dying old women remembered their dead men have more than substance; they have depth to go on and on, revolving in my head.

i’ve seen them from every angle. i swear.

what is it with death?
i’ve always said i have to die before the one i love. i couldn’t stand life otherwise. and i’ve made you promise you won’t die before me. i’ve made you promise me the unthinkable, the unpredictable, the unpromisable.

i did it just because sometimes i just need to know that you won’t die.

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62. straight into the recovery postion

blackout before my eyes.
blood, scalpel, heart, darkness. and then my mother’s voice, soothing, recieving, full of love.

i fell softly, straight into the recovery postion, noiselessly, languidly, water flowing downhill, gurlging softly at the impact with the rocks. as if i’m used to this. as if. 

and there was drama, panic, shock, laughter even, lab oozing with emotion like a devil sick of sin.
noone would have ever guessed that i would faint: i was strong. a rock. a pillar. nobody’s princess. 

but there it was. pig’s heart. or lamb’s. whichever. i cut it open, hands almost firm, quite agile. who knew how i was trembling deep inside? i didn’t scream or flinch, i looked at it from inside out, i smiled and laughed and feigned disgust. i know how to put on an act. 

tension released, i fell like a birch leaf in the autumn gust.
standing there passive, watching older, firmer hands cut right through a heart, talking of it, the ventricles, the muscles, the–
that was too much.

no use for me as such.

and yet–
are you surprised i crumbled or rather that i didn’t crumble straightaway?
whichever one, that’s quite okay.

i came around.
before you know it, i’ll pick the scalpel up again.