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The Eclectic Pen - empty parking lots

By: ericjasongastelum   + 52 more  
Date Submitted: 10/9/2008
Last Updated: 10/9/2008
Words: 387

  [second person... first person. no, wait. third person multiple/limited omniscient story? anyhow, it's all there, i'm sure of this.]
my larynx creates an invisible moist tone that lays across your skin. the more i talk the warmer this room gets. it's almost winter, and i'm lead to believe that i should save the best conversations that i would like to have for last. for precisely before the end, to show i still have what i once had, that euphoria "we just met" talk. where every word fascinates and every inch of my facial hair you try to study as i take in the curves of your body through your clothes.
lives affixed roughly together, making overtime for our reproductive organs. as we interlock hands and create a perfect lack of restraint and control, sweat gathers and coasts down my back in memories i'm trying to forget.
child-like facinations of boyish adventures within a sixty by eighty-four inch bed. remembering a smear of your face to the left in my increasingly cluttered head.
you're the box i opened and tried to close
the claymore mine set in the medicine cabinet
the flame my grandmother told me never to touch
the fruit off that shimmering tree i was told not to eat
the badger set i always promised not to agitate
were you hiding and leaving clues so i could find you?
were you waiting?
clothes off.
arched back.
breathe heavy.
hours of this.
we were paired devices, spliced and concerned for the care we felt. your masterpiece, water color painting, you made of me was slowly being pushed out deeper into the sea. i'm not that, in your eyes, that i once used to be.
still, you were a puzzle i was well aware of, just never cared to stop being enthralled by you. i studied your puzzle piece by piece, and i'm starting to think, you only saw the frustration of the final out come of what you would build out of me. i wanted to see what you'd build into.
another wasted year with the gal of my dreams, where it's the perfect story, she gets bored and begins to hint that she needs to leave. while i'm here, waiting for that one to take me for the long haul.

my second voice sings:
babylon was built on fire
and the bones of useless machines
it hurt to breathe
you fell away from me.

The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by ericjasongastelum

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Comments 1 to 3 of 3
Justina C. (stinasstoryspot) - 10/9/2008 11:40 PM ET
Very interesting form.
Marta J. (booksnob) - 10/10/2008 9:56 PM ET
You just get better and better. This is devastating (and beautiful).
Shan C. (Shan-Bita) - - 10/11/2008 5:25 AM ET
This is... amazing an heartbreaking
Comments 1 to 3 of 3