v u l v a l i c i o u s
Punches in my gut, oh look I'm bleeding--not for you, for me this time
My body is a sonata in blood: Pieces moving, together yet separate, in the same key of being and yet strangely different. Peculiar parts flowing in and out of one another, self-sustaining, though not always sustaining my Self.
I watch a piece of me, my Self, red and alive, floating in the water; I wait for it to be swallowed by the abyss and wonder where we go when we die. I look at the red heart sticker above my right breast, and feel the simultaneity pulling me out and down. Things are always this, and always more.
There is, of course, the feeling of one hand over one heart, the gentle one-two, one-two as it plays along with the music moving fast like horse hooves over hard land, dust rising up and out. And there is, as always, the dust in my eyes, the feeling that I am about to choke or cry, the feeling of the music sounding itself into my ears in harsh and hearty one-two, one-two. There have always been drum beats.
My cunt feels alive and moving, angry and screaming, calming and restful all at once; there are pieces of us floating in mid-air, so real that they seem tangible. It is those times that I can reach out my hand, when no one is home, and feel something real and electric.
I take a picture of the sky in the hopes that I will remember this day, that I will look back over old photographs sometime in the far, far future, and think of the day that her eyes told me a heart had died before her mouth could even say—could even think—the words. I will look at the clouds, and the patches of blue, the heavy black of the plants in the foreground, back-lit by the day that emerged from pale yet endless sheets of rain, and I will know that there was a time when we were somewhere else. There was a time when I was young, and brave, and alive, and idealistic. There was something there for me, and there still is.
I take a picture of red and blue and so fucking orange it hurts, and I hold it up to my Self as proof that there is something. I want to look back and know what I felt. I want to look back and know, simply, that I felt.