Moments of clarity.
Moments of purity.
Moments of love.
These moments washed over me,
Thousands of tidal waves hitting my memory.
They keep contorting my body
In a way that couldn’t be considered anything but a rarity.
The beginning waves were gone
And a new tsunami was brewing.
His hands roamed over my rib cage
And I became intoxicated.
Completely and utterly compliant
To his touch.
Pinning,
Grinning,
Living.
It was like I had never been touched before.
His hands were scalpels
Cutting off all the thoughts to my brain that could have possibly said
Stop.
I didn’t understand the false identity
I had acquired.
My passports were stamped with the
Exotic countries,
That I’d only dreamt.
My skin became tanned with the sun that I never knew.
My mind filled with drops of wisdom
That only age could of have presented.
I was insanity at its finest.
I wasn’t listening to the voices anymore
But became them.
I was six different people and he couldn’t catch up.
I was a saint.
A sinner.
I was in love with his mind and in lust
With his eyes.
Under and overestimating each other.
“Surprise”
Became our catch phrase.
Insanity
Our lifestyle.
Pain
Our paths.
Ecstasy
Our destination.
I wondered afterwards
If something could compare
To his simple touch,
Intriguing smile,
And lusting eyes.
But as I wonder the voices begin to lie.
Telling me things like,
“He’s just another voice inside your head.”
And if that’s true,
I’d rather be dead.