His life became under siege. I didn't mean for that to happen, it just did like many other times before, with many others just like him. I always knew he thought he was unique, though, and i never tried to change that... nor did I confirm it.
When he'd get tired of my sickening tone and the loneliness late nights brought him he'd tackle me to the floor and yell "I love you!!! Can you get that?".
The only response he'd get was "What's there not to get?" or if I would be really bored, a simple "nothing" would suffice. Then I'd give him a mindblowing orgasm. So strong it could shield him from his own cries. I'd then light a cigarette and go out, not coming back for several days.
Eventually he'd gotten used to it. The tears would dry out, digging rough canyons into his increasingly pale figure. I say the drugs didn't even matter that much.
I was his disease, a plague which got worse with every day he thought of me.
I remember once I let him take an overdose. The ambulance came at my call and they struggled to take him away. I wasn't there... I had fled the house in fear the cops would find me.
A part of me wanted him to wake up in amnesia. A part of me wished for him to forget about it all and live a normal life. But most of my being craved for him to come back so I could proceed with my sick mind games and torments.
They say he kept screaming my name, even while those awful machines cleansed his intestines from the past. I told them to fuck off, even though frankly, I felt flattered.
He was my captive, trapped in the basement of these horrible vices he couldn't handle. My presence seeped like filthy drainage through the dirty pipes around the room while he quietly sat into his corner waiting to be intoxicated by me.
His eyelids are black and his nails blue from the games we'd played.
His eyelids are black and his nails blue from the games we'd played.
As I look down the skyscraper I wonder how disappointed he must have been when I didn't stop him from taking the last step. I'm surprised to find myself thinking of him.
"You may sleep now. My presence has choked you enough already." I say to the wind, while lighting a cigarette.
I was his last pill, the last syringe that would pierce his blood vessels.
Getting up, I realized I was done. My feelings were washed away. As I walk away, I throw the cigarette in the depths of the noisy metropolis.
"Fuck it."
