The story of Kisces

It’s quite a funny story actually, as you’ll soon see for yourself. It was an ordinary day; sky, wind, oxygen, hot salty-looking pavements and a couple of houses. Almost exactly as the previous day had been save for one difference, nothing major, just the fact that Kisces wasn’t breathing anymore and her body consisted of a rather tattered looking torso, blood-tangled hair and bulgy eyes with a broken look to them. Her legs had been severed slightly below her hips, although severed seem like a far too civilized word for the description of what Kisces’ lower part of her body had gone through before finally being tugged off, by then being little more than skin surrounding a mush of pulpy flesh and splintered bones. No, not splintered, those bones had been damn near sawdusted.

I said this would be a funny story but now I might have to take that back. You see, Kisces was killed by her lover who wasn’t really in love with her to begin with. So with regards to both living and dying, Kisces was a very unlucky girl. And that’s what love is all about; a complete and total lack of luck. To put it shortly, I met someone, started to love that someone, was mistaken pretty badly, and just decided to ignore the whole thing. I didn’t get beat up and destroyed by my emotional side-stepping the way Kisces did, but in some way I still feel the need to be pitied because my heart aches and whines, resembling more than anything else a honey jar that’s stickied too tight to ever be opened again.

Kisces lover (who will continued to be referred to as such, even though he didn’t really love her) was your average guy. He never intended Kisces any harm, at least not until he stomped her kneecaps for a good half hour until they felt soft and almost powdery beneath his boot, but he also never intended for them to be together. Kisces was quite jadish and immature and far too easy to get into bed. When things got too serious she was easy to steer back in line and when things got completely out of hand she was even easy to rape, maim and leave in the woods to rot.

I don’t remember who first claimed love to be like some kind of flower (a rose, wasn’t it?) but whoever it was, they were absolutely right. Love is nice, and sweet, abundant and inevitably wiltering. We need togetherness, results, big talks, physical connection, closure, forgiveness, answers, fidelity, but we should all just shut our needy little mouths and consider ourselves lucky we didn’t meet the same fate as Kisces. Or, that we haven’t yet.

Sister

I’ll start this poem the way they all start
Proclaiming my hopes, my need, my love
Saying that without you there’d be a hole in my heart
And the sky would be cloudy up above
 
Her lips were shiny golden pearl
Or so they claimed when they’d kissed her
They ask me: “My, do you know that girl?”
And I say: “Yeah, that’s my sister.”

Your face is the name of blushing art
You run, you fly, you’re wild and free
I’ll hold my breath as you depart
Without you, grayness overcomes me

Take my hand and hold it tight
Through roses, pines and heather
We’ll always walk through silvery nights
Because we belong together

Caught

I hated walking home in rush hour traffic. Endless streams of cars honking and people whizzing past me way too fast for comfort. I stopped at a red light along with a clump of people and I sighed, wanting to just get home so I could kick off my boots and curl into bed with the latest crossword puzzles. And then suddenly something caught my eye. A face, one which stood out in the crowd. A girl. I froze and looked at her. She was… beautiful. Not in a conventional way, she had a high forehead and a substantial nose but there was something about her that made it impossible to avert my gaze from her. Her hair was long and a golden pale yellow that framed her face and fell in ringlets down her shoulders before coming to rest on her chest, bracketing the band logo on her shirt. Suddenly, as if sensing me staring, she turned her head and looked directly at me and I felt my entire body flash hot and my face blushed, burning, as our eyes met. Hers were light greenish blue with a darker circle around the iris and her lashes were black and slightly curved. She smiled and tossed her hair, the light catching it and sending glints of copper along the strands. She held my gaze.

Enthralled I moved closer and as I did so she moved towards me as well. My heart was pounding, loud in my ears and hard against my chest as I neared her. As her smile widened she wrinkled her nose and showed a neat row of small teeth and I noticed that she had a small birthmark on her right cheek, like a fleck of dirt on the otherwise so light and fair skin. She was so beautiful. We were now standing close, our toes almost touching, and she leaned forward until our faces were only inches apart.

“My”, she said. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

I blushed even harder and stuttered something unintelligible. She cocked her head to one side and winked at me, obviously pleased with my flustered appearance.

“What’s your name?” I asked, too dumbstruck to think of anything else to say.

“You”, she answered.

“Me, what?” I said, feeling like a moron.

She tossed her head back and laughed.

“My name is You”, she said. “Y-O-U”. She winked again and coquettishly bit her lower lip. “Kiss me”.

She moved closer still and I felt myself leaning in towards her, almost as if someone was pushing me from behind. Our bodies pressed together and a low moan escaped me.

“You’re so beautiful”, I gasped and her face fogged over. I closed my eyes and my lips parted slightly and met the cold glass of the mirror.

Kiss me

One of the rudest things you can do is kiss me passionately. I don’t do passion. And don’t even think about pressing me against a wall, making demands with your lips. This is not sexy nor is it pleasing in any way. Who the hell are you to come nibbling and nudging?

And why is it that you must entangle your fingers in my hair and pull it? Seriously, pulling my hair? Do you want to kiss me or fight me?

And stop pushing your knee against my crotch! I’m not an assailant, nor a dog, and I do not nourish secret wishes to be rocked on your lap. Just stop it.

And will you stop staring at me?! Close your goddamn eyes, this isn’t a moment you want to remember seeing nothing but the indistinct bridge of my nose. By rule of kissing, you don’t look at each other. I already know what you look like, hence me agreeing to kiss you, and even though dilated pupils was a big hit during the late 1700th century, I don’t need to look into your eyes to know you want me.

Because your palms are sweating. Don’t try and wipe them off on my shirt, that’s fucking gross! Are you trying to feel me up or use me as a napkin? Because honestly, I can’t tell the difference!

And will you stop breathing so damn hard through your nose? See, this is why we need to kiss slowly, because believe it or not, there is nothing arousing about your harsh ”passionate” buffalo snorting.

You can let go of my head now, I’m not a puppet you need to steer. Just relax, there we go. See, isn’t this a lot nicer? Our bodies melting against each other, our tongues barely gently touching. Just hold me and let my hands do the wandering. You know, when I’m at ease like this, I almost forget what a vile and bacteria riddled cesspool your mouth is. It’s so sweet. Now I can feel my knees go weak. Your hair is so soft.

Don’t stop..

Are you licking my tonsils?!

Kratos, the god of war

Body filled with orbs of blood
Possessed with powers green and blue
Pride dragged through the mud
Hate and lust are strong and true

Love is smeared across your face
Your hands can not grip tight enough
Coldest stone cannot meet your gaze
Hate and lust are raw and rough

Rage can fuel a pair of blades
Gorgon eyes and phoenix feather
As memories of mercy fades
Hate and lust are merged together