I can’t feel a damn thing.
My hands drag down walls, bodies and doors. And there’s nothing. The air is heavily scented and too thick to cut through. I step into the small washroom and try to fill my lungs. The colors are wrong, but the colors are right. And then she said eyes have never been so telling. Looking up, languidly, I don’t know if she is ugly or beautiful. She cups my face and I swoon in the familiar weight of it. Her eyes are like a raccoon’s, outlined in black, and her pupils were huge, filled with hues and tints I’ve never seen. I must touch her body, her naked form is sinful. A siren with dark tousled hair on slender shoulders, falling on rosy nipples. I reach out to her and she smiles, but my hand falls short behind a hard, cold barrier. Livid, I bang against it, craving her flesh. She pushes through, my nails dig into her skin. There is pain. I feel strong. My lips press against hers and she tastes like dirt. The mirror breaks. I am disgusting. I am bleeding. My eyes see what I cannot feel.