macabre dreams

everything

When I told him I felt nothing, it was the biggest lie I've ever told. At first I felt lust. Pure lust. I wanted him then, immediately. I knew once I saw him under the street lamp on the way home to my cold, lonely apartment, I wanted him. Sure, my feelings then were innocent so to speak, I wanted him for my own personal pleasure. I spoke to him, laughed, told a joke or two. He had just got off work at an expensive bar, full of businessmen and lonely husbands and wives, even people celebrating their birthdays. We set a meeting place to meet the next day, at a children's park, and met. He offered me a cigarette and I gladly accepted. We smoked and laughed. Eventually a few weeks passed and we exchanged numbers and sloppy kisses and late nights. He made me feel golden. Eventually, my lust filled days turned into infatuation. I dreamed of going on sweet dates and us holding each other on nights we couldn't sleep. Those dates and nights did indeed happen, but I just couldn't stay happy. We became angry. We were fire and ice. I was the fire, constantly burning, constantly causing destruction and pain, bringing him down. He was the ice, so cold, making you shake and crave warmth again. I eventually told him he meant nothing, even though he was still my entire world. Eventually, after we split for while, I became obsessed with him. I watched him leave work, I watched him go to cheap motels with $20 hookers. Gingers were his favorites. I even watched him on the way to work. I got a part time job at the 24 hour fast food restaurant near the bar where he worked from 5-12 every night, even on weekends. I became so obsessed, we started our relationship again, just so I could feel and really know him. I wanted to learn every emotion he held, from ecstacy to fear, true fear. That's how I ended up in the mess I was in yesterday; I was standing over a corpse. A bloodied mess in the dining area. I wanted to see his insides, so I carved around his ear, and watched the deep, crimson blood drip onto the table. I sliced it off and moved to his eye. It rolled out quite easier than I expected, it's all about where you press. It popped out and I stuck my finger inside and felt around. Afterwards, after I carved his lips, the lips I kissed so many times.  I moved to the torso, afterwards. I took off some skin, marked skin from me and his other lover, tainted purple from sweet and messy kisses. Crying angrily that he didn't love me, I stabbed his stomach, slicing it open roughly and reaching to his small intestine, and pulling as hard as I could. Instantly afterwards, I dropped the tool and fell onto him. I still feel the blood seeping through my clothes. I kissed his forehead, deciding to finish my beautiful artwork after I woke the next morning, hoping to feel everything for him as I do now, looking at my love, insides turned out, just beautiful and everything as I imagined.