Anaesthetic

I'm cold. 

Internally and externally. 

I need something more than what I've been given.

My joints ache and I feel older than my 27 years, but when I look in the mirror, I see no real signs of age. I'm greeted by dark circles, a few freckles here and there, cracked lips, muddy brown eyes and tattoos around my temples. It screams of youth, all the while an aged soul dwells within. I lean closer to the mirror. I think about bashing my head into it. It doesn't seem like half a bad idea at this point. The emotional stress is causing me physical distress. So many parts of my life I've managed to compartmentalise; tuck it into a nice little box and put it under the stairs for a stormy day. I've never looked inside any of those boxes, despite the promises to myself that one day I might. I wonder if 'one day' will ever come. I don't want it to. I don't know if I'm able to will it into being. So many parts of my life now are just empty shadows, leading me down paths of confusion and turmoil while other things remain crystal clear. Amazing what the human mind is capable of.

The wind outside howls, blowing snow off the roof as I glance outside the window. I can't face the outside world today. I don't want to leave the house. I want to curl up inside the soft duvet until these bombarding feelings finally run out of firepower. My social anxiety has never been this bad before. It twists and turns with my depression while suicidal thoughts scream in the base of my mind. Their cries echo down my arms into my wrists, where they beg to be released. I've become reliant on pouring my sorrows into the blade, taking out my fears and angst on my body.
 I want to close my eyes and sleep, but when I do, nightmares now corrode me. I used to believe that his arms wrapped tightly around me, his warm breath on my neck and his soft stomach pressed into my back would keep me safe from the monsters that threaten me in my unconscious state, now I hold no such illusions close to me. My unresolved fears creep into the silence and manifest in the most corrupt and terrifying of ways. My sleeplessness drives me closer to the edge than I've ever been before; even when I rest, I wake exhausted. Fatigue weighs me down and clouds my thoughts while those around me demand perfection. I want to grab them by their shirt collars and scream into their faces just how exhausted I am. I fight the urge to give into my most primal of desires, instead returning home to bury my frustration and fatigue in him. He welcomes me in no other way I've ever known and in no way I ever want to be without. 

He pulls me into him, wrapping his own fatigue around mine; I feel my own begin to dissipate as I absorb all that that is him. His scent intoxicates me. It's a mixture of cinnamon and sandalwood. Many write sonnets, plays or songs in the anticipation of escape, but all I need is him; his warmth, his sent, his softness. For the first time in what feels like a decade, I'm able to exhale. The tension held in my lower back begins to dissipate as his chubby lower stomach presses into it. Out of all the chemicals I've pumped into my body he's my favourite and by far the most potent. He throws me down and lays on top of me, playfully pinning me down. He knows exactly what I need before I do; he reads my body as I read his.

Against him, I feel the temptation rising. The lust of his core radiates through me, my body responds to his and together we create a perfect symphony. We move purely on instinct, anticipation of desire fuels our movements as we fumble with each other's clothing. His mouth presses against mine, exploring all of the unspoken words hidden in the crevices. All of the bitterness, hatred and distress begins to flow out of me as intoxication begins to consume me. My hands are drawn to the plushness of his hips, I pull him closer to me as he begins to gnaw on my collarbones. We move in slow motion as the world rages around us.