Read Me. Drink Me. Eat Me. Kill Me.




He’s crouching at the feet of my bed, clumsily pulling down his pants, jumping from one foot to the other. I find him so ridiculous that I can’t even allow myself to let this thought fully bloom in me or I’ll burst out laughing, hating myself for it through the whole thing.

His face is so dead serious, his eyes glazed with lust.

I’m so not there.

He climbs into bed like a big cat, predator-like, and I need to shut off my brain.

Apparently, somehow, it’s too late for that and this time, I’m not laughing.

With a split-second delay, another figure follows him slowly. Blurry and small at first, it grows clearer and life-size as it lies down besides me, besides him. And suddenly we’re no longer two in this dimly lit room. We’re three. Behind every one of his moves, there is your imprint. Every time he touches my body, I have this shadow feeling creeping up my thigh, my spine, my neck. You’re my phantom limb. Your absence makes this farce all the more cruel and your body double just helps underlining his fatal shortcomings. For all I know, you could be sitting at the other end of the bed, naked, and laughing at me. Wouldn’t hurt more that holding a body that’s not yours. Your absence scratches my skin, pokes my eyes, cramps my thighs, shouts in my ears and bites my tongue, as he caresses my skin, kisses my eyes, grabs my thighs, licks my ears and sucks on my tongue.

I close my eyes and it just gets worse. Your ghost is all over me, like a bleak moon jellyfish wrapping its poisonous tentacles around my body. You’ll ever be the only one to really penetrates me.

I sink, I surrender, I let him become you for a moment, hoping it will make time hurry…

He rolls over. Apparently, he’s done. This night backwash leaves my corpse defeated, wrung out, suffocated, blinded, blistered on the cold, hard, wet shore of our former bed.


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