Parasite
You are my friend, caged in some shiny violet eyes, dressed in the depressed, understated colors, from red to black, from the crimson blood to the cloudy night. I know how wrong it is to wish of you and long to kiss you, of holding you tight and feeling you from the bottom up and then beyond until the top of a tree. You are my adequate friend, a strange being that I decided to talk to for more than usual. Your smile is where my eyes lie and your way of walking down and walking back is what drove me insane before, for I wasn’t like this, I was never like this. But you can be, sometimes, so sweet and sometimes, such a bloodsucking fiend. But I will do what you tell me to do. I will crawl through the mud that your feet stomped, I will fight against lies if it means I get to see you just for another day. You talk and I cry. You snap your fingers and I jump or mutilate my tongue or hammer my head with a drill.
Because I love you. I am obsessed with you. I cannot think of anyone else but you. I haven’t thought of anyone else sensually and I doubt I ever will. Because if just to be in your line of thought, to be, even in the tiniest moment of the day, in your feelings and prayers, I would do anything for you. It sickens me that you know this, that you know what to use me for and still insist that this is all normal. We are not best friends, even, but we are no lovers, we are not acquaintances. I just know you and love you and you just know me and need me for everything except for the one thing that makes me ache.
It is all in vain to be so around you. But I cannot think of what to do when I see your lips moving, or your eyes diverting, or your legs and feet as you stretch on the couch. You dress up for the world while I watch from the shadows. You ask for my help because no one else would dare to not smack you across the face. What am I do to when you are so helpless and I so in need of human contact? I want to hold your hand for a few seconds, then massage your feet, your legs, your thighs and let my mind wander places. I want you to scream that you need me and no one else with all the force of a distrustful, towering idiot. I know that all you ever thought of when you met me was that I would be a useful person to know and nothing else. You do not care if I die with this pain and I will never get over you. We ought to get used to this, both of us, sucking each other’s wills, until we are both so dry and weak, that no one else would dare approach. That is what I want, what you want, it will change with time, it must, thankfully.
