Coming, Coming, Gone

Words by Jaime (she/her), 22 QLD  

 

‘I’m going to cum,’ you moan into my ear.

A declaration, an encouragement,

For me to keep doing what I’m doing,

Which is,

If I’m being honest,

nothing.

And it feels like nothing;

Unseasoned meat, a blank space, the loading page.

I suppose I could do more,

But what more can you do

When you’re pinned like a starfish?

Sometimes the horse just lets itself get ridden.

 

‘I’ve finished,’ you say,

Like I wasn’t in the room.

What you mean is,

We’re finished. 

Your version of aftercare is to

ask if I came, kiss my temple,

And then go shower.

But I’m still starved. 

 

You do not know how to feed me,

So I fill myself.

My mouth makes long Os –

A lion’s gaping jaw.

How carnivorous of me

To hunger for my own flesh.

 

You are singing Ed Sheeran in the bathroom:

I’m in love with the shape of you.

I know this can’t be true, because your eyes were

Closed

The

Entire

Fucking

Time

Like you were terrified of me.

You didn’t see a shape of me

To love.

 

You can’t hear my muffled tones

Through gritted teeth

as I push my face

Sideways into the pillow.

 

Then, there’s a scream!

I’m launched through starlight and moondust,

Tugged into the chaos that’s burning

Through my whole body.

 

It’s everything

and everything

and everything

And someone is yelling

That the tigers have escaped

And are riding the elevators up to

The pool

Where geese have held a man

At gunpoint.

 

There are fireworks made of

Sexy go-go dancers, and

The tacos being served

Are actually the folds of mountains.

 

Over there, a girl is firing bullets from a Louboutin heel

(Her boobs look spectacular,

It’s giving Katy Perry California Girls).

She winks at me.

 

I hold onto my cat –

I mean hat,

as the world zooms around me,

A flurry, a montage, a flip book

Of moments,

Of dimensions biting at each other,

Pushing through their swarm,

Knocking shoulders like

The violent swings of bells.

 

A bullet shoots me in the abdomen just

As a tiger swallows me whole.

My body convulses.

My eyes squeeze shut, and

Suddenly I burst above an ocean.

 

It feels like late afternoon,

The sun slinks like a cat

On the horizon,

And the water laps at my face.

I float on my back.

 

There is the faint echo of the chaos that

I just left,

But I let it fade in my ears like

The changing of a song.

It is just me here,

And that is beautiful.

 

‘I thought you said you came?’

Your voice is sharp and whiny.

It lassos my body and yanks me back to

Your room where

I’m laying on your bed, my hand resting

On top of my pelvic bone.

 

You look at me with disgust,

Like I should’ve been grateful for what you had

Already provided for me,

Like it was more than enough,

Mr Provider Man.

 

You cannot give me a crumb

And call it a meal;

And I won’t be made to feel guilty for wanting

To feel full.

 

I get dressed and leave.

You send me a dick pic

Two hours later.

I block you.

 

I realise now you cannot see what I see,

And I cannot see for you,

So I must accept that you are blind of me.

You are incapable of seeing me starve,

So it hangs on my own shoulders to sedate

My own satisfaction.

 

Maybe there is someone out there,

Who parallels my lust,

Who will guide my own fingers,

But until then,

It’s just me, myself and I.

 

That’s fine by me,

It’s better that way, actually.

It’s everything.

 

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