Cold People

I do believe I killed her; I am convinced of an accidental mishap, result of impulse previously unaware. I will be damned if this is finality; guilt is an emotion, I know the word, I am learning the definition. I can be taught.

I cannot recall where I first saw her; more than accepting of my presence is the temple I sought refuge. Defamation of the sea, volume of denial; thus my reasoning for the happening. Recklessly endangering what I left behind further down the mathematical number line we exist as negativity of a mercury valve erect under a swollen sensory projection, the taste of another man's tongue; she refused many an occasion with static electricity. Mane of red shadows forsaken by sun lifting straight from a tingling sensation; rejection is a difficult process. Shock stings his lips as flesh of frosty chrysanthemum reaches for pollen inside icicle ridden tulips; condensation forms underneath eyelids dreaming of wolves. Persistence weakened me; she chose surrender as I battled progressively into the decline of personal discretion. This sacrifice is my stone hedge alter for symbolic passage; she no longer desires the torment of instinct. I gaze upon her for an indefinite moment, the amount which determines such is unknown to any of us; I cannot apologize. I am sorry beyond any performance written for blazing eyes. From this contemplation a cycle touches the cold figure; my mind is matter for science to investigate without evidence of intention other than a dead woman inside a morgue.

"Is it over?"

"No...now we must face our faces..."

"How many are there?"

"We will need to find out."

"Somebody is after us; we are no longer the hunters."

"We will not be prey either; I rather not be feasted upon."

"I feel discarded by the self I should of known better."

"Regardless we are the result of our actions."

"I know where we are somehow..."

"As do I; how does this involve us?"

"I am not sure but we are tossed into the situation."

"Do we attempt resolution?"

"We must be the resolution."

"We must be aware of whom we left behind as we tried to escape our own self."

"We should of known such is impossible."

"I still cannot remember what occurred..."

"We do not want to remember."

Prior to the elliptical trance of watching one's self, we hastily gathered masks for a show; behind the curtains is where we hid for the duration caught inside what we knowingly dramatized, a forgotten play as we ran away from folk implosion. Marked hands display society's constructed delusion tracking our disappearance act; thus is the trap. We swayed from the medium of interpretation into boundaries of foul perception.

"There are no wolves here."

"There are no bobcats either."

"I cannot recall how we arrived."

"We will when we realize we are no longer here."

"When will that be?"

"When we are not together."

"I cannot be without you."

"Nor can I..."

"Who will be there for me?"

"I am not sure."

"Even if I am surrounded by adoration I will search for your face in the crowd; I will not be able to enjoy or feel any pleasure without you the same."

"For me as well..."

"Will there be a wolf there for me?"

"You would not go there if none; will there be a bobcat there for me?"

"Your heart is where they roam."

"Bobcats and wolves share the land."

"Distance is a barrier..."

"If you experience alike to me will we be together even without each other's presence?"

"Either that or we will be discontent forever."

"We should always be able to find one another."

"Those that watch will not permit this to happen while they fear our companionship."

"Their fear is illogical as their vision."

"While their eyes see what they choose we will be lost in the perception."

"However long the moment..."

"However short is eternity?"

"Damn..."

"Will we ever figure this out?"

"When somebody figures us out..."

"Who will they be?"

"The part of ourselves we do not face."

"I miss the wolves."

"I miss the bobcats."

"I miss the way he looks when I go to see him. I miss his blue eyes and pink nose."

"I miss the way he embraces me with his fur. I miss his brown eyes and porridge nose."

"Who will understand us enough to bear with our confusion?"

"Anybody who is willing to read us as a book."