tompkins

I want that familiar smell, the one that will drown me.
It brings terror up my spine and a sick twist in the very bottoms of me, but it's been so long since I remembered it.

Your sickly sweet musk, that hides and tangles itself in your room, in your car, in your clothes, in your hair, on your body, in strangers who have walked by too close.

It's been too long since I fell far into longing and love. Now I'm stuck with dreams and fixations that I have created. There is no real musk to smell and no real body to hold. Only a word I wonder what it means, and only a smile I wonder if it was for me.


How can I even think of love when my heart is only healing from death's stench and Satan's rotting breath. Because love aids that healing, wraps it up in its arms and cradles my heart. Fans away and airs out the dead blood and decaying breath of lies that was stagnant in my heart. Because now I wake up hungry, stomach stumbling curling and grumbling and yawning and waking for new blood, for new life. To devour. Musty earth and earthworms, the dirt that holds the wheat grass and the hands that smell of living. The sea salty air, bitter taste still upon my lips that I lick. The sun I poured down my throat and sweated out my pores.

Alive, alive, alive, alive.
I still miss that old smell.
But this hour smells well, it smells of something coming to eat.