Monday, July 12, 2010

The perfect girl for you.

She looks at you with this emptiness, and you worry that if you rest your hand on her shoulder, the noise will echo around inside her cavernous body. She is stalagmites and stalactites, dripping down and reaching up for something, for someone, to love her and make her feel right.

"Kiss me now," she begs you, but you turn your lips away and brush them against her forehead instead.

You see her emptiness, you see how it fills her and stuffs her up like a teddy bear, too tight for her skin but loose like a baggy sweatshirt. She's become a shadow girl now, afraid to leave the darkness because the light burns those who lost their purity. She is silence now, curdled milk in a baby's mouth and that moment right before you scream.

She makes your insides ache. She haunts your daydreams. She digs up under your fingernails, pushing into the vulnerable stretch of skin with her sharp words and tapping into your veins.

You bleed for her, but you're so afraid of breaking her that you let her break you.

And then you realize, with eyes so tired from wishing, that all her emptiness wasn't empty after all, it was a thickness of moments she'd collected over the years. It was everyone else's memories that she'd stashed away for later. She's a soul-sucker.

She's hollowed out and in.