No Amount of Prayer Can Get Me Into Heaven/ Gia

My cold, pale hands will never sate the desire for your touch.

i slid my hands over the skin between my hips and my ribcage for what seemed like hours, still damp with slowly dripping water from the shower. Following from my protruding hips, into the dip of my waist, and up to my semi-visible ribs. Then back again. Trying to conjure up the heat another person's hands would leave there.

All i can do is choke on the words She spits out and cringe from the politeness and affection She shows me, because i feel so undeserving.

i am so unreal.

And i need to feel something stirring in these veins of mine.

Remind me my veins aren't filled with filth. That i am not filth.

Because i've FORGOTTEN ALREADY.

Shivering beneath a black satin sheet. Curled on the floor, cushioned by the burgundy carpeting. The softness of the carpet and the sheet was almost euphoric.

i do so love satin and velvet and other various soft things. Snuggling with softness.

i am exhausted. But in a good way.

My bicep aches. i scratched off two oval-shaped, dime-sized pieces of skin with my finger nails. My arm was itchy and irritated.

i just forgot to stop scratching when the itching sensation stopped.

Dried blood is underneath my nails. And i can't help but try to taste it. Like metal and copper. i remember the taste of deep wounds.

The wounds we are inflicting on our own flesh is appealing because it pours from my skin to let you in.

Could you kiss the dirt away if i pulled back the skin, the filth, the bruises, the stains, the scars, the burns, the lies, the deceit, the taint, the sin, the everything?

My skin tastes like blood and fear.

My cheeks are smeared with crimson tears and mascara traces their path.

i shut my eyes. and i see You. In silence we just sit, absorbing each others presence.

Don’t wake me because i don’t want to leave this dream.