It doesn’t matter how: with gestures, glances, words or actions - it always hangs around you like a perfume. “I am above all these scum of society. I am stronger than them. I am more important than them. Not one of them is worth my scratch. ” This is what you think. Only for some reason, the ghosts of the past come to us all the same. Have you ever wondered why? ..
I made you up. Because you are as selfish as you are. Because with all my own stamina, strength of mind and restraint, I was always afraid of being alone - to be alone with nightmares: with those whom I killed; with those who were once our comrades; those close people whom I betrayed because of my egoism and fear - to remain alone, waiting for death, until the hero comes and blows your head. Scary, isn't it?
Or until fear swallows you crazy. Or die from old age in a cage, constantly cursing himself for not having time to grab a sharp blade before and with a decisive gesture to bring it to his throat.
You know the question that always tormented me, I saw it in your black eyes, looking somewhere through time and space. You were tormented by the same. “Isn’t it better to glorify loneliness together?”
And now?..
Your slender, graceful fingers sliding over my back, so scorching, but still deathly cold. How can this be? Dream or reality? Did I make that up? Your breath, scorching my skin, exciting every bit of my soul. Or is it still frosty cold, forcing blood to run cold in my veins?
Our common madness, the stigma of criminals and traitors. The reason is to forget for a while, to move away from reality, to immerse yourself in albeit short-lived, but oblivion. Isn't this what we invented? "Us" ... sounds beautiful and not so lonely anymore, right?
I run through your long maroon (or still black?) Hair. Your eyes are carefully peering into my face, as if seeking an answer to an unspoken question aloud. And I even guess which ...
My thin fingers move to my cheek, running along the barely noticeable bristles, then, outlining the shape of my lips, lie on my inflated torso, trying to feel the heartbeat. Does this person have a heart at all?
Again deathly pale, it is alienated and cold. Really, I myself invented that passion which covered his eyes with a gray veil? Probably just a vision. Probably my subconscious again. Damn crazy girl!
Just in an instant, he was leaning on me with his whole body, pushing into burgundy silk sheets. His hand runs across my thigh, causing a hoarse sigh to escape from my lips. For a moment, his eyes flash red. Or did it seem to me again?
- Get rid of nightmares? - says the brunette on the exhale and sticks into my already swollen lips with a passionate kiss. Yes, let’s get rid. On the exhale.