but there will be no prophesying, speculating, speaking into existence, etc about next year
no “I feel really great about next year,” no “I’d love more time at home to work on my hobbies,” no “surely it can’t be any weirder than 2020,” nothing
My mind knows you’re gone but my body still jerks awake Trying to picture you out there, but failing, you’re fading, Like the red from my hair every time I shower because I spend too long underneath the shower head screaming over my speakers, I play the song to try and fill up the space you used to take But instead, it just personifies itself, takes the shape of your face and body next to me and turns to me, Horrifying, Because it feels like you, but doesn’t sound like you, Like some bad rendition, made years later by someone who never even knew you.
I try to make love to the black space around me instead, wiping my tears so it doesn’t see and calling out into it, Breathing out into the ether and inviting it in, It fragments into obsidian shards and creates its own light, reflects back onto itself, Almost makes a rhythm that sounds like the even breaths while you slept. I throw back the covers and reach for it’s phantasmal coitus, but it turns its faces away from me, a terrible apparition, It’s back, indistinguishable from it’s front, stares at me accusingly in the dark.
Bitter cold walks don’t work. I thought so, though, Wearing nothing but socks that meet the wet pavement, can’t feel my feet, I go out in my nightshirt, my breasts and arms goosebumped against the cotton To feel the cold, it hurts, the collar soaked while I sing the song to myself and ask for you to come back, -The dawn pressing down and around me, smothering me, its scarlet and blue coating and filling me like amniotic fluid- These first few hours used to be so full, dawn being the most pregnant part of the day, It bore you like a secret, But now without you it’s shoved me out of it instead, Splattered me out onto the New Jersey pavement, head cracks against the grey, Concussed and trying to find my way home with your name on my lips.
Already, this early, I’m thinking about it, The deep red glint at the bottom of the dark glass bottle, Seen through the pinhole, One eye closed in a grimace as I drink it down. I find her at night, the glint. She doesn’t make it any easier to miss you, But she takes up the space that you did better than music, fornication with the dark or physical suffering do.
Well, I have sown untidy furrows Across my soul, But I am still a coward, Content to see my garden grow So sweet & full Of someone else’s flowers.
Sometimes I can almost feel the power. Sometimes I am so in love with you (Like a little clock That trembles on the edge of the hour, Only ever calling out “Cuckoo, cuckoo”).
unfriendly reminder: this is a sex worker positive space. I will not tolerate the disrespect of sex workers here, and if you cant agree with that without a doubt then you’re not welcome here.
sure would be nice if people other than porn blogs and sex workers reblogged this
