deliciouslygrotesque

In the cover of darkness, the shell of a body encasing my thoughts dissolves. I'm not afraid to speak my mind and I ask you things I've always been afraid to ask. The darkness shrouds my eyes. I feel like I'm talking to myself since I can't see you; our words echo off the walls. They hang in the dead air between us. Tell me your deepest fears. I won't be listening but it's comforting knowing I'm not the only crazy one. I slowly drift off to sleep, my mind filled with impossible thoughts of things that only live on that threshold between dream and awake. My eyes close and I cross the line. I have fantastical dreams; lovers ra

Sometimes she was a man. Sometimes she was a woman. Sometimes her hair flowed down her back. Other times, she lacked it completely. Today, she stood in front of the mirror and decided she wanted to be beautiful. Sitting in front of a man she had just met, he asked for her name. Quickly scanning his mind, she replied, Rachel. He smiled. What a lovely name. * Cherry Chapstick. Check. Cellphone. Check. Keys. Check. My mental list was recited every time I left my room, and every time I came back. The only difference was that when I came back, I named them in my head as I put them in their corresponding place. This day had been an interesting on

Stories usually begin at the beginning, but my beginnings? I can't really say there were some. I mean, yeah, I was born and I guess I was a child at some point, but my memories are not in order, which I'm sure is not unique to me. The first memory I have is playing with my Grandma's dog in Mexico. It was this ugly mini doberman pinscher, and I would "play" with it by putting my fingers inside of its mouth. It was a fun game, as I remember, until one day it bit me. I suppose I was a fearless child, but my life must have changed after this moment. I was probably around 3 years old, but even then I knew that this life was going to be a tough one

"He was related to you, you know." "What?" I looked up at the people surrounding me, but none of their lips had moved. "He said he was related to you." The girl next to me eyed me curiously. "Don't worry. You can ask him when he comes." The next moment we were standing in a dark, little public restroom shielded from the afternoon sun. "He's coming." I looked at the mirror above the silver sink and regarded my appearance. I saw the plain sweater I was wearing and tried to remember when I had put it on. Suddenly, he walked in through the empty space where a wall should have been. I grew nervous thinking about what he would say when he

I walked in through the door and our eyes met. They told a different story. Apparently his girlfriend and two kids didn't cross his mind. I knew that look; I had seen it so many times before, and not just in myself. I want you. My blank look wasn't convincing. He saw it, too. But what could happen? Four years in age difference was enough, for me at least. This had been going on for so long. Too long. It was hard enough trying to keep our parents from noticing anything. We weren't blood. That made me feel a little less guilty, but he was so obvious. When he moved over just a tiny bit in the car so our knees or our shoulders were touching, the