I see my window. I want to escape. To over there. To the broken wind as it blows and then stops. I feel it, but I don’t feel it enough. I feel you, but I don’t feel you enough. I want more. Like an addict. Along the wet mulch, inhaling the smell of Spring, but begging for winter’s excuse. To be there in a bed where we lie. I don’t want you. But I want it so badly. It’s painful. I am in pain. I couldn’t let it show. I beg for the snow and the cold, for the alcohol to release me. Make me warm. I need it so bad. I don’t need it, I am not that girl. I’m not the girl who needs those feelings, but I am the girl who needs those thrusts. I need it over and over again like a needle to my arm, like a pill to my tongue, like the rain on my frizzy hair. I need it. But I don’t need it. And I can’t decide. I cannot decide if I want it or I want you. I am doomed.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.