Some internal clock has me waking at 9:34 am daily.
I resurface, heart pounding as though I'm not merely awaking but resurrecting.
Maybe I've been riding sidecar to change & uncertainty for a little too long.
And the dreams are juicy, as they are want to get in desperate times.
I wonder if a nearly drowned person fears thirst.
Today: in need of exercise & exorcism.
Today: work and work and thoughts about work while I work.
Today: the escape plan will continue to carry me forward.
He devoured me.
The purple-brown imprints of his teeth may have been hidden from the world under sleeves and tights, but his hunger walked with me the whole time we were together, carvings of cravings renewed daily in my flesh.
It began in my mind… either I had a premonition or he psychically tasted my unuttered fantasy. It was a visceral dream. I would hold out my hand, and he would sniff it. Then lick it. Then chew it apart.
We were a destructive combination. Together, we grew feral.
To the outside, we were a docile, bookish pair of neo-hippies. Outside, inside, any second of isolation, we'd tear up everything but violent desire. We would knock each other down, piss where we shouldn't, flash each other across coffee shops and libraries, jerk each other off in crowded movie theaters, have wholly naked sex outdoors—on city porches or in the woods, and screw secretly under jackets or blankets right in front of anyone… once even when sitting on a sofa with his grandmother.
We never discussed our deviance, and we couldn't stop it.
And he would bite my flesh bloody, like a starving dog.
At some point he told me that he would eat me when I died.
In motion, there was a silence… all senses retreated but touch and taste. But when we stopped, the buzz of humanity exploded upon us. We had lives before our mutual ignition, and they had been ignored until finally they roared back in.
It ended as abruptly as it started. It had reached the point that I couldn't eat or sleep, and he was vomiting all the time. In one moment, we stopped speaking, and our violent passion transformed into violent resentment.
We had been eating discord, and could stomach nothing else. I nearly starved to death by returning to whole.
Very quietly, my bruises went away.
With time, even sirens become whispers.
We'll start with the death of the twins, and map our trail backward.
Naked dead in a ditch, the scene swarmed with curiosity, flashes, and a gang of meatstick fingers working helpless question marks out of sleep-encrusted eyes. The condensation puffing breath of the crowd brought nervous good mornings as crystal frost glistened dawn sunshine at the girls' knees, lips, and lips again. The girls froze in acceptance. Time moved over them, not through them for a change.
D.D. & Baby cared to know no other others, for they were each other's other. Replicated mirror reversals. When looking into each other's eyes, the reflections stretched to infinity. Fused in form, one always felt that the other was merely illusion.
They were surely bonded in that unnerving way that twins always are… a closeness of passion tainted by the marvelous hatred of two who long desperately to be one. The girls possessed that rare independence of total dependence. They shared everything… milkshakes, lovers, a domineering death drive… and a deep distrust of everything outside.
