"I've got a tongue like a razor
A sweet switchblade knife
And I can do you favours
But then you'll do whatever I like..."~Guns 'n' Roses
I hear your voice in this song. You with the wild hair and intense eyes. I hear your sarcasm dripped tongue, the lies and the truth and I want to breath it all in. Hold it in my lungs, never to exhale, never to give you up. But that was so long ago and I was so different then.
A small tear occured in the space/time continuum last night and I felt your hands reaching out to me through the distance, from the past. Your acrid laugh and my appalling naivety. I never wanted to be the one with regrets. Never wanted to be the girl who sat in the shadows with wet eyes and bruised thighs, wrapped in a cloak of nostalgia and weeping tears of saccharine regret, the young virgin auto-sodomized by her own chastity.
But you reduce me to this. And I close my eyes and try to will it to be another way. I feel every rain drenched October night like a thousand tiny teeth of glass biting through my soul, tongue bleeding biting back words that should have been spoken instead of cast adrift on a sea of silence. Silence is the slayer and I am the feline bandit that stole my own tongue.
This regret eats at me slowly, a torturous decay, a gangrenous soul, I hobble about never knowing. One day I will swallow you down with a cocktail of strychnine and novocaine. You are gone, and I have nothing left, for you left me with nothing, only this scream caught in the back of my throat.