jonucleus

[jonucleus]

Mouth full of hate

You have betrayed me, your lies and false promises. You spun a web of lies and now you have vacated it, leaving me stuck in its sticky tendrils. I still remember the way you used to lay against me, sweet and warm. The way you would smile against my breast, your teeth grazing my soft flesh. If I had known how cruel you were, I would’ve asked you to leave earlier. You with your rotten heart, empty and full of aching blood. My heart plush and full of an ache unlike yours. It feels as if you have taken heaping bites of the organ, the sinew hanging limply from your teeth. Those wicked teeth sharp and gleaming with the hot spray of blood. I sob at the thought and sight, wailing into the unknown. Nobody dares answer my cry, especially not you. Your mean words have wormed their way into my head, whispering in a hot breath how pathetic I am. This might not have been your intention; regardless, it has made its mark.

I wonder what happened to make you hate me, I never tried to make your apathy grow. Maybe my tendency to linger and become dependent caused a sense of resentment to build and rot. However, I never intended for this. I had so much love to give and I guess it just suffocated you. I know that I am not in the wrong though, I had always been transparent with you. Warning signs came and went. I think you wanted someone like me to lose myself in you, it would make it easier for you to manipulate and separate me from my loved ones. You were sneaky like that, the way you would subtly tear me down and get me to cling to each thought that passed through that head of yours.

When I saw you with her, my heart felt like the stitches I had carefully sewn in the shape of your bite marks simply dissolved, leaving gaping flesh. Lips locked, tongues mingling. Bodies pressed against each other. I could’ve reached out with one hand and touched you, to run fingertips over freckled skin. My lips used to worship your flesh there, my nose nuzzling and hiding a meek smile. You would giggle and push my head away, hand so warm against my forehead. If I had turned, we would’ve been facing each other. In that moment, the memories flooded my body and I was helpless against the thoughts. Thrown into the mess, struggling to stay afloat. You wouldn’t even make eye contact with me, leaving me to chase after blue eyes that would never look on me fondly again.

I had shown you everything, given you the gift of getting to know me. I had shown you my body, my imperfections and perfections. You used to grip my hips in a way that made me sure you would never want to lose me. I had shown you my mind, the way I thought about things and how I processed things. I was laid bare like a cluttered attic. All of the things that made me, me. It was never going to be enough for you.

[jonucleus]

A Graveyard of Memories.

Drunk tucked into a corner of a low couch, head spinning and eyes downcast. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, it’s heat spreading towards my ears and staining my chest a deep pink. The sound of laughter is sweet here, it’s lively timber dancing through the air above my head. The house is packed, people meandering about it’s space. Nobody seems to take mind of the little treasures littered about the place. A sliver box on the mantle, its’ engravings sprawling across the side. Somebody’s pet laid to rest in 2017. The picture frames shoved deep in corners of a bookshelf, something almost forgotten. A pillow embroidered by hand, the edges sunken with age and the lingering smell of mothballs. I remembered idly that my great grandmother used to embroider doilies with baby pink threads. Her wrinkled hands used to always shake but they would never shake if she hummed along to the tinny radio and held me on her hip, swaying me along with flowing skirts (my nana tells me I look like her but I cannot remember her face). People dance in that little way that people dance without knowing anyone is watching. Heads inclined towards the music, dipping slightly to the left, to the right. A shimmy of shoulders, everyone’s bodies catching the rhythm together and in small instances, jewelry glints in the light like a school of fish. The shuffle of feet, back and forth, keeping time with the bass booming that I can feel underneath my planted shoes. The vibrations can be felt the strongest in my soles, the balls of my feet as I press down into them. It makes my toes itch a little, the booming sensation of a band who loved their double bass drum dearly. A painting made by a kid, the canvas still peeking white through rough strokes, hanging on the wall near a poster for a movie I hadn’t ever seen. The coasters next to me on the coffee table were stained and had faint impressions of a mug the same size and weight. Probably one that was used so often, you could find fingerprints layered on top another in the same places. The lamp with dust underneath its shade, in that little hard to reach place towards the bulb. A little dog bed underneath a small table. I thought about the beloved pet on the mantle and wondered if they used to share the same slat of sun on the floorboard to sleep on.

I observe quietly, my hand sweaty around a can of pabst that I had grabbed in a panic because I don’t drink beer. My dad used to keep the fridge in his garage stocked with these. On the weekends when I was a kid, I would hop quietly barefoot over gravel under a silvery moon and sneak my way out there, just to sit on the steps to listen to him croon along to Johnny Cash (always Johnny Cash when he remembers things that he gets quiet over). When my dad gets drunk, the music he listens to makes your stomach hurt. I know where my tendency to wallow alongside the desolate lyrics of a well known cd that skips comes from. I wish I was a kid again, sitting curled up against the bannister eyes heavy as he unknowingly sang me a lullaby. His voice is beautiful, rough and soulful in that way a lot of older southern men don’t hold value to themselves over (please keep singing daddy, I’ve missed you). One of my friend’s friends sits next to me, his thigh pressing into mine as if to herd me into being smaller, sounds a bit like my dad as he sings quietly along with the music playing. Making leaps and assuming the worst, I snark inwardly about my father also wanting me to stay out of the way, to make myself little (I’ve never been little, really) as not to bother his existence. I drunkenly realize that whiskey makes me angry (just like my fucking father) and I hold grudges that run so deep that i cannot shake them, even if I tried.

People sit on the other side of him, on the carpet in front of me, couples tangled up on loveseats. Two joints are being passed around, as well as a weighty bong. I think if I were to hit that, its stem caked in dark resin and dirty water, it would make me so sick I wouldn’t be able to pull myself away from the toilet for hours. My knees would be bruised the next day (praying to a God who never acknowledges my pleading cries), my skin gaunt and hands shaky. I think about high school, getting high with girls that I haven’t talked to in years. I think about fits of hysterical giggles and truly unhealthy amounts of junk food digested. I think about the people I’ve experienced life with, how far away they feel to me now. Even now, sunken in to an old couch surrounded by people, it feels so far away. Like I’ve drifted away and away, becoming one with the wallpaper behind me. The quiet of my own personal solitude is deafening. I wish I was like that girl sitting on her partner’s lap, smiling and pressing kisses against a grinning mouth ( to kiss someone and have them smile at me like that). To feel someone’s heart beat against my chest and to give kisses freely like a handful of flowers for your lover.

My fists are clenched, my head spins in circles as I spiral further into my thoughts. I have been absorbed into the scenery, my heart being tugged by the ashes of a dead dog, my fingers covered in dust from an old lamp, my nose plagued with the smell of my great grandmother, my skin burning with the memory of my father’s belt, and my head engulfed in a drunken haze of my own machinations. A shadow passes over me yet I am not there, eyes closing momentarily away from the looming figure in front of me. My mouth starts to salivate. I want to go home. To escape this house that is full of life that I feel unwelcome in. It would be easier to forget, to push or shove aside. Some people are good at shoving things down (I envy their ability to move on). I have never been good at shoving things away, everything sticks to me like tar. It is thick and oily on me, covering everything I know to be me. I feel a hand on my cheek, cupping my blazing hot face. A thumb strokes the edge of my shuttered eyes (she’s found me thank god), sending a spark of recognition down my spine. I blink back to my senses, feeling as if the world is about to fall to pieces around me. My best friend smiles down at me lightly, her eyes sad as she watches me snap to awareness sluggishly. She knows I’ve had to much to drink. She can tell from the twist of my frown my head hurts. She knows the glazed over blink I give her means I’m down for the count. I think about apologizing to her for my disappearance, the parting hand to her shoulder as I searched for somewhere to sit.

“Ready to go?”

I nod, fighting back the sting of tears that rips up my throat and perches itself behind my eyes. It’s like swallowing against a bundled ball of barbed wire (only a scream would release the pressure truly). She helps me up and leads me out, her arm clasped around my back. She leads me away from the memories I can momentarily leave behind me, in that impression I made in a stranger’s sinking couch. My pain is engrained into the wallpaper and I walk away from the graveyard of memories.

first post !!! yay!! i’m just going to posting things i’ve written, old and new. starting off with one of my favs that i’ve done. i’m jo, thank you for reading :)