04: February 2015 #13 - February Contrapasso
Authored by Lianna Halko
by Lianna Halko
I want to hurt you and silently sip the odd familiar sticky tar that spills because I love you and it’s been said that pain is beauty. Happiness, Hunger, and Boredom. I haven’t learned a thing from this gloss paper except how to sneer and fake it— and it is a tragedy. It boils down to this: Red wine stains and chocolate weekday nights Candlelit flickering shadows, the smell of singed wicks, and snooze buttons— tea sometimes. Confusion and excitement brushed with the bittersweet caress of nostalgia and internet radio guided by gentle soothing female voices. Longing and unfulfilled waves of desire and determination that shoot through your temples and cravings of waffle cones. The smell of fresh pine needles accompanied by the blinding glares of the suns rays and their comforting fucks. I am ordinary. A past situation dweller with swollen inflamed eyelids and shaky wrists. Repetition, monotony, and love for the elderly. The punishment fits the crime. Whiskey and sober evenings with chills and sweat. Catharsis as a metaphysical tainted capsule to swallow whole and digest. I am pure. Fond memories of chopsticks and tough aggressive tongues detestation, too. Linger over me. Linger over me just like beautiful downy depression clouds— I stretch my tongue out for a taste. Sometimes china doll porcelain skin on skin. Sometimes cashmere sweaters underneath cold denim. You’re mad. I am grateful. The night ends and I am fastened in your anxious embrace While you are in mine likewise And together we will bloom and explode to dust wildly Rinse and repeat.