“I do believe his mouth
is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.”
- Richard Siken, Crush.
awake, sweat soaking his skin and mouth dry from dreaming. It took a few
moments for him to regain consciousness: first, he watched the darkness morph
into his dorm, then, he heard Matt’s steady breathing from beneath. His chest
felt constricted, lungs struggling to function like they were supposed to.
came to an aching halt, and his vision doubled, and then his breathing faltered
and heart stammered and surroundings began to blur and he forced himself to
move, mind still on autopilot. Every step was a conscious effort, and he felt
distant, looking at himself from above rather than from within.
sure how but he found himself ascending the stairs, two at a time, and cracked
open the metal door. There, he hesitated in the entry, and his eyes landed on
the man ahead; a silhouette against a dark backdrop. His mind had sorted
through places to go, a safe haven to reside in, and his feet had taken him to
about the mind was this: if you fed an idea enough it began to leak through the
cracks, blocking out the light and polluting every branched thought. This
became an endless cycle; the hunter and the prey, arrow piercing puckered
flesh. And Neil was tired of being the rabbit.
currently in the locker room’s shower, head leaning against cold tile, the
cracks between each one no doubt imprinting his skin. Everything felt
disjointed; each moment wasn’t moving onto the next like it should. The past
and present merging together in an overlap that blurred the edges. He could no
longer distinguish between reality and memories, the only tell were his senses
channelling in on his aching limbs, pulse a slamming beat inside his skull.
numbness wasn’t a lack of feeling, it was an uncomfortable buzzing underneath his
skin; like the hum of electricity waiting to be sparked to life. But his wires
were disconnected, burnt out, and he didn’t know how to repair them.