Burdens of Lust

(Let me sleep, Lord so that I may scream without consciousness. To sleep is not a simple task for me anymore. Lying there is so shitty in the late hour. The smell of saliva running from her lips. I convulse at the thought kissing them. Those incestial lips. She thinks I have no clue in the fucking world. I know she and her sister make love with those lips. With the hands I used to hold. For the love of God! Let me sleep.)
         He slid out of the bed sheets that were soiled with blood. (Shit.) His leg was caked in the crimson crust as well. The scent mixed with the stench of lust was intoxicating. Sam hobbled to the sink to wash the taste of her lips away.
THWUP-------
The ache distracted him, fulfilling it’s short lived task. It kept his mind from the ankle so he could direct his attention to the looking glass. His blood shot eyes searched it with a jerky motion as if a death rattle had caught his heart.
         Dark red lips.
sleep
         Magenta spots on his neck and arms.
sleep
         Baring his  teeth.
sleep
         Sharpened canines.
sleep
         On his left pec there was a double irised eye.
sleeP
         Thank the lord for Tool.
sleEP
         Grabbing the rag on the
slEEP
         counter  and ran it under some cool water.
sLEEP
         He didn’t scrub hard due
SLEEP
         to the cuts.
(I am going to have  buy new sheets. Those fucking stains won’t come out.)
         A singular stressful thought was a relief from the blitzkrieg of reminders, to-do’s, suicidal thoughts and grocery lists. The pain was becoming nostalgic. Less meaningful in his love for sex and metal. She was off that list a while ago. He sifted through the wires of sleep, separating reality and aspirations of fantasy. His nude body sat on the washroom floor. Waiting for daybreak.
                                                                                                        -Cathedra