PHOTO CREDIT// ALL THE OTHERS

5 years of touching. I felt nothing. Your hand dances on my nipple. To guide me. Not to the promise land. Heaven has taken up shop in an entirely different bathouse altogether. I was there once. I lost it all to a man with no face. Rebirthed, I was. On some dirty sheets, strapped to bedposts. I was reborn a ghost heart. It had a name, that bathouse. Fuck. It slips out my mind. Quicker than I never could slip my wrists out those straps. That tied me to unfeeling. Quicker than the dendrites in.all.the.nerves in your fingers try to damage me. To shock me. With your love. Bring me to the here.the now.the moment your eyes plead. You use love to shock the shock out of me. Knock the lightning out my eyes. The thunderstorms that replaced the beat of my heart.

I’ve been waiting for a guy to come
And take me by the hand
Could these sensations make me feel
The pleasures of a normal man?

I’m not drunk enough for this. I never am. 1 shot. 2 shot. 3 shot. 4 shot. 5 shots. Take me away Patron. The last time I was sober during sex, it eludes me. 1 shot for every year I met your kiss. Their kisses. Their tongues. With a dull epidermis. A spectral heart. That floats in and out of the moment. Like a butterfly, definitely not like a bee–never gonna sting you. Unless you want that, like a punch to the face.

But you don’t need it like I do. The kink to disassociate. To comparmentalize. Place a leg way the fuck over there. Hands tied behind your back. All the feelings in their right place. Not talking to each other. The shock, gave rise to disorder. And I live in it by not being here. On the same sheets as those as your hand. That’s moved from my nipple to the slip of skin that makes my inner thigh. I’m not anywhere. I float between walls as we fuck. In and out of the room. I shoot myself through the sheets. Hide under the bed. Suffocate my own self in pillows.

I’ve got the spirit
Lose the feeling
Take the shock away

I fucking down a pill. It’s supposed to take my.dark.moments.away. Simulate human love. I should think myself an Extraordinary Machine. Off kilter, a survivor at least. But everytime I get bedroom eyes I become a ghost heart.

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