random it imagines

bubble gum and oak (fick)

My hand was in his, squeezing it over and over again. His tiny body covered in a pasty hospital gown on a pasty hospital bed. My tears were abundant, silver streams on my gnawed cheeks. The only food that has touched my lips were my tears, salty and sweet. I could vomit. But here I am, my 3-day old jumper probably wreaks and the skin under my eyes look bruised. But my best friend. My Jack, is in here. And I couldn't do anything but blame myself. His beautiful eyes were not visible, blanketed by his blue lids. His lips were chapped. And the freckles on his cheeks had dulled, to the point where I couldn't see them.I was choking on my tears now, his silent breathes only apparent by his chest subtly moving up and down. Up and down. Like my emotions I guess. Like before my fingers were wrapped in his, my thumb skimming over his nails just softly. His face was lifted up to me, legs crossed and moonlight illuminating his face to distortion, his dark lashes branching out like a monster on the brim of his nose. His eyes were locked on mine and my breathing was hitched. I always had this fire burning in my lower stomach when I was a round Jack and when our legs would brush or I made him laugh or he would tackle me to the ground, so close to me I could breathe in the faint bubble gum and oaky smell he had. My heart slammed against my chest and would beg to escape. But here I am now, after. Me with my head resting on his thigh, my hands tangled with his. And him blue and broken. I was tired needed food but Jack Dylan Grazer was my first thought always always and it fucking kills to know he would never think of me the way I think of me. Be as infatuated as I am of him, to me. You know how some people listen to music every second of the day because it takes them else where, away from the shit hole of this world. I was different I would just go to Jack. He was my escape. And you're probably wondering why he is in here in the first place. Well I the fuck head I am, leant in our noses were touching under the shy moon and our eyes were unblinking asking a question without a word. Wondering if this was okay? If it was okay to kiss your best friend? For your lips to touch theirs and for your hands to roam places always covered by clothing. Never seen by the sun. To tangle your hands in their hair and share the air of the world. To kiss every single freckle all over the body. I thought it was. I guess he didn't. I dipped my head lower silently asking for an answer. But he panicked and ran. He ran through the field back to our homophobic town. The orange lights and blaring of car horns singing in the distance, the howls of laughter and scribbles of slurs on every wooden bench and wall. He ran there. To home. He ran so fucking fast and so fucking far that his breathe caught and his legs buckled. He fell down halfway there. Not breathing and not moving. I picked him up, carried him on my back. Until we reached the white building. The one with the sirens and shouts, and studious nurses and dying patients. And I slammed through those swinging doors, screaming for help, they caught him took him into a room. And here I am now, in the walls of the sing building. Hospitals really were just a reservence of the already dead. And I didn't pick that up until I stood in a ragged suit lost eyes boring into a shining casket throwing a hand full of dirt on it. On him. 

okay 

-m