This way, that way, left and right. Up above, down below, left or right? Black and white and gray and blue? Lower, lower, what do you see? Nothing, sir, I see nothing. Exactly, do you know why? No sir, I don’t. Good. Turn around to your left, wait no, to your right, see there? See there? It’s black and blue and red and green and big and small and shapeless and square and round and tall. Feel that? That wind, that thing? Sliding, squirming, touching, feeling, it’s sour and sweet and salty and fresh. See there? Squint your eyes, is it too dark? Wait –what’s that sound? Over there! No to your left, no –right. Do you hear it? Listen, listen its there. Loud yet not, here yet there, left or right, where is it? Find it, find it.
Drip, drop goes the tap water against a white sink. Drip, drop the sound echoes through the dirtied bathroom walls, walls stained with dirt and dust and mud and grime. Off-white tiles covered with it, the grime, the mud, the filth, me, you, them, us. An arm sprawled around the foul toilet lid, inside only clear water swirls. Throat so soar, can’t barely talk, can you? Breathe, breathe. The air isn’t there it whistles by your lungs, whoosh, it goes, out but not in, chest rises and falls rapidly trying to catch some lingering tastes of oxygen, it’s there, it’s there.
Breathe.
You can’t, can you?
The bathtub’s curtain is torn to shreds; they lay atop your body. Inside, mixed with the dirty water blood swirls in circles and circles and circles. Blood, red and crimson, dirty and clean. Do you hear that? Drip drop drip goes the tap water, drip drop drip goes the blood, drip drop drip goes the bathroom. It is almost like a song, soft and sweet in the background like hearing the gentle singing of birds, the warbles and chirps composing the loveliest melody. Do you hear it now?
The shower starts running, full force, you hear that don’t you? Eyes widen, heart speeds, breathe gasps. It is quicker now, repeated drip drop drips forming a faster song, a faster rhythm. Hear it, hear it.
Hear it.
A hand wraps around your shirt. No, please god no. Yes, yes. I’ll do anything, anything you want, but, Jesus Christ just let me go, please, I haven’t done anything to you, I don’t even know you, please, god, let me go. Know me? I don’t know you; please just let me go, please, please, I beg of you. Shhh, do you hear that? W-what? Hear what? The water, it runs, it’s almost like… a prayer, listen, listen. No, no you’re crazy! Let me go, let me go, let me go, LET ME GO! I can’t. I won’t, I won’t say a word let me go let me go let me go letmegoibegofyou.
Kick, scream, yank, pull. The grip doesn’t loosen, it never does, louder, louder scream louder. Fabric tearing, throat screeching, nails digging, nails on flesh, teeth on nails. A punch, so hard on the lower jaw it stings you. The shock of it leaves you hanging like a small lifeless doll, limp, almost dead. The shower runs, the tap water drips.
Nonononononono. It can’t end like this.
Oh, but it does.
Head under the water, silent screams. Have mercy, help. Don’t do this. Kick, bubbles, scream, splashes, give up, surrender.
Silence.
What do you see? I-I can’t see anything. Now?
Black, black, black. Stark dark walls stretch impossibly forward, a small black box of nightmares, deeper, deeper. Are you in a corner? Or are you in the middle. The floor, the floor, it’s black and black and black and black. Everything’s black, it’s all black, black black black. You see but you can’t too dark, too dark. Squint, squint, move, swirl, what is this? Black, nothing but black, is this a wall or furniture? It’s black too, it looks like furniture, it has the shape of furniture. But it’s too black, too black. Move, squirm, squint, mouth hangs open in a light ‘o’ shape, eyes squinting, hands shacking, knees cackling.
Look up.
The ceiling.
Or the sky?
Ceiling or sky? Sky or ceiling? What is this, white dots, white white, blue blue, yellow yellow dots. They stretch forever, forever and ever showing no evidence of edge or ending. See? What use is sight when everything is so confusing? In the blackness something swirls and moves and shifts, head goes round and round in circles like a mad merry go round. Where am I? What is this?
Home.
What? What? Who said that? I can’t see, I can’t see, show yourself! Nothing, no movement, no voice, no chuckles, no smiles, no sound, no void, no sight, no nothing. Please, oh, please, show yourself. Is it the glasses? Glasses? What glasses? No? No! No what?! No what indeed. What?! What?! Explain yourself!
Nothing, nothing.
Move, move, you have to move, move, move move. Legs, arms, fingers, toes, shoulders, mucles, bones, they all work together. They create movement and you see. You see.
You see a flash of silver and crimson and gold and life and soul and death.
Musky, musky and dirty. It’s humid, it’s humid and musky and sweat, there’s the smell of sweat lingering in the very air you breathe. Deeper breath, deeper. Not just any sweat, it’s the sweat of bodies mingling together, dancing, dancing that dance. What is that? Where am I? The feel, there’s fabric underneath your fingers, squeeze, smell. Perfume, perfume and sweat. Where in the world…?
Humid and masky and dirty and sweaty. And… a wrinkle of the nose arms thrown roughly against your face, cover yourself, cover yourself. What’s that smell? A smell a smell most odd, misplaced, can’t place it, what’s that smell. Deeper, smell deeper. It’s terrible that smell, it smells of hospital and death. Rotting, a rotting corpse, the flesh it rots like flowers in full bloom the scent ripe and sweet and violent and horrible wafts throughout the room like a fine aroma. The smell, it’s horrible, what is that? Open one eye, a single eye to gaze at another eye.
A still and dead and scared and lifeless and rotten eye.
Sharp intake of breath, the flesh it rots and falls and weeps and dies. The flesh it smells and multiplies and spreads like a fine disease, a parasite digs into the flesh. A maggot peaks from the surface with it comes the most horrible smell, cover your nose, quick cover it. What is that? Corpse, the dead, the life, the dead, the not-living.
Musky and sweaty and dirty and dusty and humid and death.
The need to get out.
The need so overpowering to move.
But it stays, it lingers it sticks to your body as you stand, as you move as you dance as your waltz. The rotten lay sprawled on the floor like discarded toys, a half-flowered face, it smiles and smirks and the aroma. The smell, it chokes up in your throat makes the bile rise, it moves it moves and reeks and stinks. It moves and moves and fogs the mind and makes you stop, it makes you bend over at the waist, clutch you stomach, and heave. Puke, dead, smell, dying, rotting, smell, vomit, what is that? White and yellow and swirling, acid, it smells, it smells like food that once was. It smells wrong. It smells of fears.
Move, move, move, nothing, nothing nothing. Oh, there you are. What? I knew you’d be awake, you see I have a surprise for you.
The scent of fear.
The smell of lingering bodies of cheap perfume of the rotting dead.
The flowers, they bloom, the pollen floats softly on the wind. The flowers, they rot, the petals drift slowly atop the water.
Beautiful isn’t it?
What?
All this, beautiful.
It smells.
I don’t, I don’t.
Run, run, run, runrunrunrun. Move, run. Trip, fall, crush against rotting bodies, the smell the smell, eyes water, nose runs, bile rises. The vomit, the death, it’s all mixed in. Naked bodies, flower-covered bodies, rotting bodies, dead bodies.
Deaddeaddeaddeaddead.
And they move, towards you. Hands wrap tastefully around your arms, embracing, ready, there, rotting. It chokes your throat and floods your brain and dies of fright.
Little flower growing through the cracks how lovely you smell, how lovely you look as you rot and die.
Joy, memories, sadness, death, life, live, breathe. Tangy and sweet and spicy and wrong and right and left. A kiss, so soft. Soda and nachos, it’s been eating soda and nachos, is it really that pleasant? Of course not, beer and ribs, it’s been eating ribs and beer, is it really that pleasant? Of course not, steak and sauce, stake and sauce, it’s been eating stake and sauce, is it really that pleasant? Of course not, but… But? It’s there, it exists and it blossoms on your tongue and it slithers down your throat and what does is this?
Soup, the taste of the vegetables and rice lingers there on my tongue, it swims in my mouth. Is it good? Oh yes.
And the kiss? Oh no. And what else? Is there anything else? Tea, earl gray, and leaves and grass, is it any good? Oh yes, and the kiss? Oh no. Ice cream, sweet and milky and thick and nice, strawberry with real bits of the frozen fruit it adds texture, but above all, it adds to that feeling that lingers in your tongue and ties a smile to your lips. Is it any good? Oh yes. And the kiss? Oh no. Is there anything else? Oh yes, the chicken, it is tangy and sweet, oranges and pineapple mixed with the supple flavor of the white meat, all cooked tenderly so that it is tied with an invisible ribbon of flavor and flourish. Is it good? Oh yes. And the kiss? Oh no. Anything else?
Wine.
Wine? Wine, sweet and not, it lingers and leaves. Another sip, oh take another sip. It’s wonderful and red, the taste it lingers in the right ways, it tickles the taste buds and lingers just enough for the enjoyment, just enough, but then it leaves wanting more. Is it any good? Oh yes. And the kiss? I feel it. More wine?
Yes please.
It lingers, longer, longer, time stretches into forever. More, more wine waitress, more, more wine. It lingers and stretches like a fine thread it stays, it tastes… bitter. What is this taste? It poisons and spreads and lingers and grows. The throat, it closes and clenches the muscles contrast and spasm and the taste it spreads. Quickly, quickly now it spreads and stretches and grows.
Is it any good?
Oh yes.
And the kiss?
It’s there.
And?
It kills.
I like it, rough and smooth and present and not. What is this? Touch it, touch it, see? Rough and smooth, it’s just perfect, it’ll do, it’s perfect, it’ll do. But you don’t understand. I don’t, what don’t I understand? Trust me, you don’t, you don’t. See? It’s rough and smooth, but touch it here, dig your nails into that, it’s smooth and rough but it breaks easily. Watch it tear, watch it give way, watch the rough and smooth away.
It tears it breaks it pains it lives it dies it feels.
Feels.
It was smooth and rough yet no longer. What’s this? It’s rugged, rugged and lumpy, touch it, touch it. Rugged and what’s that? Run your fingers over it again and again and again, see? It’s rugged but there’s a lump, a big one, see? Is it broken? Of course not. Then, what is it? It’s the texture, it’s the feel. It’s the feel. It is. Feel it feel it. Round and continuous and smooth, it stretched on into forever and on and on it stretches on.
Fabric under your fingers. Gun at your head. Hands tied behind back. The swirling bodies, they move, they move.
The curtain, the seat, the wood, feel it, feel it. Touch it, feel it.
Not enough, not enough. The dark, the wind, its cold, its humid, its perfect. Feel it, feel it, the wind on your face. Its lovely, its there, its present, it blows, it dances and sings. It snows, it snows. It breaks, it breaks. It tears, it tears.
Lets take a shortcut, a shortcut through this alley. It feels cold and dark and scary. The walls are rugged and worn and rough. Run your hands through the bricks there, run a hand through your hair, run a hand through the walls. What are they, what is this? Sticky and warm and crimson. It runs, it runs, it flees. Or it tries.
It gets dragged back, heels against the sidewalk. No! It screams, but it screams go unheard, it feels the hand pressing against its mouth, it feels the air whooshing past. It feels everything as it gets dragged by into the house, the dark house the black house the worn house the used house.
A rope by the neck, the air is cut off. It feels like a thousand knifes getting shoved down your throat, kick, scream, don’t do this, don’t do this. The rope it tightens, it rubs against the neck, it clenches at the throat and it cuts off the air. No, please, no. It hurts, it hurts and it tires and it drifts away and the kicking stops and the whooshing breath quiets and the world swirls for one painful moment, a moment in time where it’s all pain and sensation and the feel of the rope on your fingertips and you feel every fiber, every cord, closing, closing.
And it feels no more.
- - - - - -
wheeeeee!
-P&U
No comments:
Post a Comment