i know nothing, my experience meaningless. there is nothing, there was nothing, that mattered. nothing but your lips. i didn’t care about anything else. somehow, when i was lost i grasped out and held onto to something in the dark, not caring what it was as long as it prevented my downward spiral. i loved the fact i had stopped falling.
the darkness retreated and left me looking at what i was holding onto. entrails. i held onto the eviscerated remains of a living corpse. a hollow man who had been repeatedly damaged until nothing remained but the decayed flesh of something no longer human. certainly with no humanity left. and yet i still loved you.
even knowing what you were and seeing you through clear eyes; even while being disgusted with myself for touching something so repugnant, so vile, i could not separate it from the fact that your very presence had saved me from something far worse than holding onto something so disgustingly wrong.
i’ve tried searching for other footholds, swinging myself wildly from side to side in hopes of discovering something safe to use as a way to pull myself out of the pit i share with you. occasionally, they work for a while before petering out, leaving me to backtrack to search out a new path forward again.
while i thought i was climbing away from you, securely tangled about my leg, you have stayed tethered to me, purposefully keeping me safe from falling, even while you know i am trying to get away from you. and i am fully aware of how badly you smell. the stench of who you are ripens the air about me, reminding me of why i have to keep searching.
it would be too easy to let you wrap your rottenness around me., to slowly decay over time until the weight of my heart rips what’s left of you to shreds and sends me plummeting to a horrible fate, alone and covered with the slimy evidence of your touch covering my body in smears of your disgusting filth marring the image of who i am, forever.
i either have to trust that when i fall again, because life guarantees that we all will fall at some point, that i will find another hand hold or that something will cradle my fall. i should be able to wash you away and cleanse my skin so that i can face my fate secure that there is wholeness waiting to envelope me, lift me, guide and accept me.
i can’t hate you for being who you are or faulting you for doing the best you can. your truth is that your damage, your festering old and putrid wounds, are all you have left from what you could have once been. you want to do better but this is all you are capable of. this torn apart, broken version of a hollow and damaged corpse.