Our Love is Strange

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There’s penetration, but not the kind that goes both ways. There are indentations on your shoulder left by my teeth. You can tell they belong to me because of the gaps made by my mandible. The dentist pulled out four in one go because of overcrowding, you see. This is the reason I don’t like visiting. When I push my tongue through the gaps, I remember the taste of my blood and how he pulled and yanked and twisted those poor little teeth from my poor little thirteen-year-old gums. And then there were the injections. Over and over he stabbed the needle in to make me go numb but it didn’t work. Over and over. In and out. Out and in. So I bite your skin until it bleeds, and when it does, my hands sketch symbols over your belly with itchy fingers that could have meaning but of which could be abstract. Sometimes when we come together and our bodies lose their form, I think about Ted Bundy. Such a cruel man. Such a beast. Been dead for nearly as long as I’ve been alive, and yet he exists in all men, because underneath this smooth veneer of ours, we are all the same. The need to control. The rage that keeps gnawing away. When the curtain is opened and the rest of the wine consumed, let us drift to Soldier Summit, Utah. I heard he liked going there, and yeah, I know it’s not exactly romantic, but I’d like to take you by the hand and walk with you through the blowing sands. Let me lay you down and play with your hair. Let me link my fingers through yours and kiss you not through love or lust, but through the need to make a connection with someone who sees the same shadows- who shares the same pain. Smoking cigars while taking in the lights of the city below, all we can ever be is beautiful.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

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