viv

I've got that sickness again; I've gone and fallen for a boy.

Every time I close my eyes, I see him spread eagle flat on his stomach, naked. His hands grip the iron bed. His skin is perfect and smooth and he tastes so clean.

We talked of Wagner and military history. Fathers and ex-lovers. He played me Queensryche and insisted I listen to lyrics. He said we should go see The Passion just for the joy of hearing Latin spoken.

Every time I think of him, my stomach clutches up and I get nauseous. I want him so much that it hurts.

Love is not my friend. Love possess me. Twists me. Makes a mockery of eating and sleeping and survival. I am in thrall to a bloodthirsty goddess. She will not let me be until I offer due sacrifice.