Naked.

I want to appreciate and be appreciated.

I miss the slight give of passionate lips.

The sweep of a tongue across my body.

Feeling complete when interlocked with another.

Fulfilled to the brim, making room with a thrown back head.

 Ecstasy embracing my vocal cords with a rush of wind.

Moans and inhibitions freed.  

She asked for words.

The greatest writer I know. With tears in her eyes and a panda in her lap she asked. Overtaken by the fiercest enemy of the creative mind she asked. I hope, in the days that have passed, that she has found comfort in the words of her many friends and followers. 

Any words I grapple for seem feeble. Talented, genuine, humorous, and inspirational can be used to describe this woman but don't quite capture the tragic beauty of a soul so strong despite being repeatedly torn with trauma. You have the faith of so many. One day the words you find to describe this time in your life will strike the hearts of many who identify so deeply. Enjoy being home. Take care of you. I can't wait to see what you'll become.

I Took a Plane, I Took a Train... It Always Ends the Same

Just so you know, you ruined The New Pornographers for me. That's far from your greatest infraction but still... How am I to get to Myriad Harbour now?

It plays on my speakers and I'm transported to our car rides. All the burns we took; the smiles we made. And then I recall the mustiness of your breath. The perversion in your nature. I remember how you fucked me. From behind. No eye contact. I may as well have been a Fleshlight. I think back to how you collapsed after you reached your climax. I, on the other hand, let out not a single moan; moved not once to meet your thrusts. My arguments were feeble, I'll give you that, but you certainly met resistance. You pushed through though. You're such a trooper. You raped me. Maybe not violently, but it was plain to see I was not in my right mind, and under the influence of more than your wanton desires. You drifted to sleep as I collapsed in my dorm shower. Scrubbing you out from inside of me, trying to feel empowered over ashamed. I threw you out, you had seen my naked body but you will never see me this exposed.

A few come to mind.

I want to be naked with a man.

I want to feel pulsation pressed against me.

I want to bathe with someone who makes me wet before I enter the basin.

And we wait.

I want wounds.

New ones.

The scars are fading.

I miss accomplishing something.

No matter how sick.

I overcame.

But I want to revisit.

It's strange though.

I want to revisit to create something of aesthetic value.

Scarification.

How does that differ from cutting?

I want to see the insides.

A photo of the gaping wound.

Not just the aftermath.

It's becoming harder and harder to recall.

The puckering of skin as it buckles to accommodate.

A perversion of the human condition.

It's hard to find reason to avoid.

If I'm not incredibly sick does that make it worse?

I just want something new.

I don't think I'm okay right now.