Blank Walls
Blank Walls
A found musing from 2011, accompanied by 35mm BnW film from the same time period.
A found musing from 2011, accompanied by 35mm BnW film from the same time period.
With my assessments, with smoke, with expectancy, with nerves; I don’t know.
But long past Midnight - the smoke is burning my eyes.
But so isn’t your skin with the slightest touch.
Hot to the touch.
It burns right through me.
Touch, touch, touch.
I never touch.
Black Label on my breath, and my lungs surrendering to nicotine.
You don’t know who I am.
I'm not even sure at this moment I know who I am.
I want to feel enticing. I want to feel weightless. I breath into your neck, and up to your ear.
"Do you want to fuck me?"I whisper.
You grin. Nod. And I ask if you want to be lead to a friend’s empty room.
This isn’t my house, but I know the way.
You don't seem excited, and you’re limp in my hands and for a second I think, does he not think I’m beautiful?
You will though. I'll make sure of it.
My thoughts are interrupted when I pause at the doorway - listening for friends or foes.
I was always told that maybe you shouldn't being doing something, you don't want people to know about, but we enter the dark room anyways.
I pull off the sweater my mother knitted me, and there I am. Exposed to you, I lay you down and mid-turn your body takes form once again and you pull me onto you. Skin. Skin can be all it takes. You're entranced. You're excited now.
I find myself shape shifting into what I think you want. I maneuver and slither myself around you. We make eye contact and you pause my movements. You’re staring into my eyes, and I don’t know what you see. I kiss you as a distraction. But the way you looked at me bothers me as our tongues collide. Subtly frustrated, I roll off from you. What am I doing? Do I want this?
I was always told that maybe you shouldn't being doing something, you don't want people to know about, but we enter the dark room anyways.
I pull off the sweater my mother knitted me, and there I am. Exposed to you, I lay you down and mid-turn your body takes form once again and you pull me onto you. Skin. Skin can be all it takes. You're entranced. You're excited now.
I find myself shape shifting into what I think you want. I maneuver and slither myself around you. We make eye contact and you pause my movements. You’re staring into my eyes, and I don’t know what you see. I kiss you as a distraction. But the way you looked at me bothers me as our tongues collide. Subtly frustrated, I roll off from you. What am I doing? Do I want this?
Perhaps you try to figure me out as I stare at the wall. White, simple, clean. Innocent. It understands. This wall, this room, read me like a fucking book.
Up and down.
Left and right.
It watches as you take your shirt off. It watches as you reach for me, as I pull further away.
I really don’t want this. I know this.
Guilt forms in my head for leading you into this room and for a moment I am tempted to just go through with it. But, it would only be to give you what you want, to avoid the label of tease, with the understanding walls as our witness. I pause again - in the small room with the plain walls, one queen sized bed, empty bottles and our pile of clothes.
The blank walls envelop me. They understand.
They don’t judge me as I take another hit, letting my entire body flood with exhaustion.
They don’t judge me as I seek out and sit next to another stranger.
They don’t judge me as he takes me into his arms, tells me that I am gentle, and it is unnecessary for me to try so hard.
I can’t take his soft spoken words; not on this frigid porch, without the simple walls.
The wind is harsh and so aren’t everyone insinuations.
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