my careless contagion

  How such a rich forest of emotions grew up overnight, I'll never know. Without care and without tenderness, all around me it grew. It was like a scene from a movie, only it was real and I was in wonder. I was no jaded audience member whining about the CGI. It was as real as the pin-pricks of a freshly-picked rose's thorns. And just as easily as it sprang up, it cried out for water. The shallow roots of the tender plants weren't strong enough to hold them over until the next rain. The fields grew tired and wilted, cried out and died a drawn-out death.  I knew it was all too good to be true. Things like that don't happen to me. Love like that doesn't just come into my life. It was over before I realized it, before I even had a chance to enjoy it. It was almost like a dream, like I had simply imagined it. I was left with the things that had grown around me — trees almost as tall as the sky itself and undergrowth that was once flowering and beautiful — but they w...

Although it seems like all has been lost and all has been taken away, I know this thing in me won't stop until all has been laid waste. This thing in me wants to burn down this house, burn it to the ground, and laugh as the rain unsuccessfully tries to put it out. There will be ashes in place of me. There will be a new day, but I won't see it.  There's a hate in me that's turned inward, tearing as it screams its way from bone to sinew, from organ to meat, from synapse to socket and back. It's furious, and it's tired and bored. There's nothing to see here but the end. And it will see it.  The end is near for me. I feel it quivering in my chest. I feel it whispering on the wind. I hear the layman and the scholar alike tell of it. There's nothing left in this world I want to do. Nothing left I want to say. All my love has been taken away, replaced with a bitter and vile substance called life.  When my world burns, I will feel a final warmth. When ...

  I imagine us like animals, groping with dumb hands and exhaling fire, fixated on each other. If the world were to end, we wouldn't even know. We'd be madly making love like this.  I see myself obsessively, passionately, rapturously handling you. It's always from behind, as if I saw your face, it would be over in seconds. And I want this to last. I want to feel like I've gone to the edge with you and returned, sweaty and tired but proud. Your face turns enough for me to see your eyes closed tight, and my mouth rushes to meet yours, but you turn away again. Your body is clothed in odd sections, unclothed in the only way that matters right now — underwear still clinging to one foot, skirt on the bed, blouse and bra still on, and my favorite necklace gathering moisture on your neck.  The ache is a whole-body ache. The inevitable release is like a perfect spring day after a long winter, like finishing a grueling race, like souls crashing together. It's explosi...