literature

conversation 3.

Deviation Actions

dead-neon-light's avatar
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Literature Text

my bed never warms. when i climb between those sheets at night, they remain cold, through the hours and the rising sun and the headlights flashing by my window. both sides of the pillow are cold, because my cheek does not bestow any heat to them. i cannot be warmed either, you know this better than anyone. all those nights i clung to you, longing to feel your heat in the ever-winter of my age, and all i did was make you colder. you were slowly freezing at my touch, and never said a word.
i've never been sunburnt, the sun goes right through me. the grass beneath my feet is scorched my the magnified light cast by my mirror skin, and as the front lawn burns the only flora left safe is the flora secure in the haven of your shadow. even your shadow is a magnificent fraction of your beauty, your perfection. i wish i could have loved you the way you deserved to be loved. my love is improbable, empty, soulless and impossible, yearning and useless. i could never make you feel what you deserved and as time passed in blinks as it always has, you slowly phased out, turning to dust in my hands. it seems now, when i look back, that the moment i had you i slowly began to tear you apart because i did not realize you are not what i am.
momma, poor momma, she says i was supposed to be stillborn. the ultrasound showed no heartbeat, those years ago, and she carried me like a bitter stone inside of her for what felt like an eternity. she knew i hung myself in her womb on my cord, but she had to wait for her body to give up and surrender, realizing there was no hope for life left. she carried me dead for the full nine months, her knowing but her body still hoping that i could be born and live.
those nine months killed her, my poor momma.
and then, in the middle of the night in the ninth month, i was born and named and a plot was prepared for me. but the horrors of the world and the cold of the land shocked me into life -- my battered lungs fought and expanded, i suppurated a breath, my eyes opened and i breathed though my heart had no need for the air. a baby with life and no soul. my eyes were dead and lacked colour, i did not respond to touch but here i was, forced to exist through the anguished, aching hope of a hearse-mother. they wrote me down as dead, my birth certificate and death certificate show the same day, and my heart has never beat since the moment my six week old embryo developed one. but still i breathe, and still my breath always sounds like a cry.
because i never lived i will not die. life is the scenery on a subway train. i see it, but cannot touch it, or understand it, or be hurt by it. mother lasted only a few seconds in my memory. you lasted longer. you are the only thing that scarred my metamorphosed skin and i cannot sand away the marks you left.
i just wish you could have sanded me away and spent your ephemeral life with someone who could live with you.
hearse-mother and coffin death
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michi-iyo's avatar
oh this was gorgeous.