And so you’re back.
As the spring sun tickles the nape of my neck, you come closer to me and I can feel my heart beating through the layers of chiffon of my floral dress as the hems fluttered teasingly over my knees.
There’s something about you that always knocks the breath out my lungs as the winds whisper of your arrival. Every time. Even as I feel your presence crawling into my veins.
So here I am, at my escape as I try let go of the breaths I’ve held on to as you come closer, fidgeting with nothingness as I try to brace myself for your embrace.
For your suffocating embrace that crushes every bone in my body without leaving the faintest crack. I brace myself for the vacuum that you fill me with. For the void that echoes all my fears and insecurities. For the dead mind and the dying soul as you suck the life out of me, leaving my supple lips, dry and cracked. For eyes lined with red and shaded with black. For the fake smiles that leaves the ghosts of dimples on my cheeks. I brace myself. I brace myself, as you yet again return uncalled, drawing clouds of grey over me as your tall figure blocks my spring sun; tracing patterns of agony over the crevices of my spine; leaving imprints of your torture that stick out like needles under my skin.
So here I am, yet again at my escape as you make your way into my life, drawing curtains of darkness as you throw the spotlight on the shattered pieces of my life; those rusted medals; those tainted relations; the empty pages of my passion, blinding me with guilt and hatred that reeks off me even as I frantically rub the strong scent of jasmine on my wrists. I’m screaming out till my throat can utter no more, wanting to kill the silence you engulf me in but only to deafen myself with the loneliness as my heart can bear no more, only wanting to burst as the gathered curls peek through my pale knuckles.
You see, you master the art of forcing a knife into my hands as your grip makes paintings of the dripping blood, with my fingers. You master the art of disguising into the reflection that speaks with a forked tongue of hatred. You master the art of caging my soul in a handicapped body as I try to walk towards dreams; of manipulating my mind to believing your doing was my mistake, burning me with guilt. And so you, my anxiety, are back to feed off me like a parasite. Leaving me only to keep me alive for the next time you visit to quench your thirst.