broodings

falling over or falling in love

i worked myself into such a state writing this that i actually cried, although i've never loved another in my life.

the end part is inspired by katherina's speech/poem in the nineteen-ninety-nine film ten things i hate about you + some beautifully poetic things my aunt said yesterday.

this is describing a completely unhealthy relationship, and i'm not trying to romanticise it. if you're in a relationship like this, get out of it, or make it better, please.

your lips crash against mine,

the headboard breaks,

my toes curl,

and the sheets tangle around our broken bones,

we promised it'd be just this once,

yet here we are,

number fifty,

and we can't stop,

breathing smoke from each other's mouths,

bloodshot eyes screwed shut,

shaking hands clawing at backs,

because you are my drug,

even if i'm on a million others,

even if the only name i forget when i'm high is yours,

even if you're drunk all the time, sunglasses on indoors,

even if the only person you call when you're pissed is your ex,

we were made for each other,

sweat slicked skin sliding together,

grunts and groans rising in unison,

blood from our cuts and bruises dripping onto the sheets,

and afterwards,

there's this crash, an anticlimax,

and the sheets are stained,

wood splinters around our heads,

and i can't feel my legs,

but my god, is it exhilarating,

and it's all a blur in between,

falling over or falling in love,

and there's this canyon's leap between love and lust,

but with us, it's smudged,

love, lust, love, lust,

and you whisper that you love me when you come,

i whisper that i need you later that week,

but am in your bed because you love me,

or do you love me because i'm in your bed,

do i need you in me or in my heart?

and we have become eros and psyche,

never one without the other,

for i am eros, and you are psyche,

and goddamn, it hurts, but it heals at the same time,

your are my high, one taste of you and i'm calm,

one taste of you and i'm not going through withdrawal anymore,

and dear god,

i hate you,

i hate how you make me want more,

i hate your goddamn smirk,

i hate the words you whisper into my neck,

i hate how your hair feels between my fingers,

i hate your laugh, deep and melodic,

i hate how you whisper, 'so soon?' when i come to you,

i hate the light freckles that splatter across your cheeks,

i hate your eyes when they seem to stare into my soul,

but most of all, i hate that i still love you,

even if it's more lust than love,

and if people lust after colours, styles of clothes,

i lust after your skin, your taste, your scent,

i lust after you, i love you,

- r.s.