Monday, December 20

Partial lobotomy

The excruciatingly silent morning after, he had slept on his stomach in a pathetic attempt not to get blood on the expensive sheets. I hadnt slept at all. Those nights when I do are rare.

Franks back, dried up drops saying bonjour . The same colour as my nails, signed Chanel.
With the kind of movement that resembled a very old woman, possibly half dead, I stumbled out of bed and sat down in the window. Treating the cigaret like a vail, taking comfort in the fact that white smoke is only half way transparent. As long as I was smoking, I could act as though the silent didnt bother me. He finished a glas of bourbon still half full from last night Belle dear, Im thinking about moving to LA, London is nothing but one of the nine stages of hell without you and your mother. That is when it hit me. The present perfect tense of last nights sentence -It was all going to be okay. He was; still eager to heal me. still in love. I was ; Agonizing. Loving him. Biting my nails until they were bleeding. Mixing it with his. We : No blood connection. Fiction. A bond beyond what meets the eye.

His wound undoubtedly has healed now.
I still cant sleep (Technically speaking, the operation is brain damage, but it's on a par with a night of heavy drinking. Nothing you'll miss)


Kassandra said...

Dear, I find solace in your words.


sanchez said...

You always seem to write with such a flowing kind of motion. Despite the distress that's there. Its kind of calming.

The the silence before the storm.
I take comfort in that feeling.

wichser studio said...

now you are an awesome writer. thanks for visiting my blog but just wanted to let you know i didn't write those words. they are lyrics to the video above.

im a new follower!


Erimentha said...

i love how you couple beautiful words, with a little pic of yourself. it's a great combo :) hehe. keep it up! love, eri xx

Sophia said...

You are so beautiful; your words inspiring. xo