Sunday, January 22, 2012

"Pinnochio's Bride"

My feelings for you go farther back then the food stamp line on the first of the month.
Our relationship was a shared bottle of Gin at 12a.m. while sitting on your back porch steps over looking the patches
in your backyard where our mangled childhood is buried.

And I love how your kisses always tasted like sugar cookies.
I recall a time, when we were 13, an impromtu game of Spin The Bottle united our lips for the first time...you
promised we would be inseperable, from that day on...You lied.

You were my firsts.
First kiss.
First love.
First fuck.

It shouldn't be this easy for two bodies to become one.
I watched nervously, tugging at my lips with my teeth as you made your way inside of me. Slurs of "fuck" "damn" and "shit" fall from your lips. I catch them with my tongue, and take a deep breath.

As we made the beast with two backs, I cried silently, listening in as your mother was being beat mercilisly by your
to father. To him, she was just a punching bag with a pulse.

We came. And I prayed under my breath that our love would never become that...
It's been 5 years and I can't decifer if this pain in my chest is just heartache, or the beginning stages of the Ebola virus.

I used to fold my heart, oragami bird style just to fit the moods you were in. Your temper was filled with more fire than the devils basement.

The first time you split my lip open with your fist, I realized things weren't going to be the same. I let my pouring blood serve as the ink. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. You marked my love with a return to sender stamp in the form of four fingers and an opposable thumb.

Your smile used to be the gateway to God's eyes. But now, your demons excorcise at free will thru your palms.
I continued to promise myself as I syncronized short gasps of breath to the beating fist against my jaw that this was
only temporary.
I wondered how long I could continue to fake it and fib to my friends and family, stating that the blackend bruises under my eyes are just bags because, "lets face it, I work too hard for my own good."

September 9th, I was sent to the E.R.
Coincidentally, it was the same night I came home bitchin' about, how you "never notice me anymore."
But boy, did you notice me that night...

You paid special attention to my neck, wringing and beating it like housewives washing laundry in the 50's. And my elbow, I never knew it could bend that way...it couldn't. Gymnist would look on in awe if they could see how flexible you made my bones that night. And I thought Rice Krispies were the only thing that could snap, crackle, and pop...that was before my tender
midsection was formally introduced to your knuckles.



The fractured collar bone, broken arm, and 5 shattered ribs were cause enough for my brothers to place a bounty on
your head.

While I slept in my white-washed bed, covers just a little too clean, my brothers were tearing you to bits.
Like ravernous wolverines, they massacared you.
Eye for an eye.Tooth for a tooth.Blood for blood.

You were demolished.
Almost twenty six miles away, but I swear to God, I heard every minute of your punishment.
Every scream.Every whimper.Every cry.Every attempt to beg them to leave you within an inch of your life.

Funny how it took the death of you for me to realize that what I've been loving for the past 5 years was a lie.The person that I loved had become nothing more than a carcus, and the heart incased within it was long aborted.

© Malix Mechü

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