Housewife

I am your housewife.

We’ve been married for three months at this point.

You’re wearing a classless suit, feeling like a real man.

I, standing in a short dress, with an apron around my small waist, am baking blueberry muffins.

I’m gorgeous, or at least I have been told. 

As I center a muffin on the plate, you sit on the couch, reading the daily paper.

I stroll over and hand you the muffin as I sit alongside you. 

I gaze, mindlessly, at you.

You’re gorgeous, or at least by society standards.

“Honey,” I began as he shifts his attention to me.

“Would you still love me, be married to me, if I was a monster? Would you still love me if I destroyed us?”

I don’t know how those words came out of me, but he accepted them and leans over to give me a kiss on my pink lips. 

“I chose you to be my wife for a reason.”

I blush and took the muffin away from him before he could eat it. 

Later that night,

I throw away the muffins that were laced with mercury.

He cancels my appointment to be locked away in a mental institution. 

I’m so glad he’s giving me another chance – giving us another chance.

My Baby

You don’t really want to be my baby.

It’s more than having a pretty face by your side.

I will only steal your joy and drive you crazy.

You only want to touch my developed, arousing body and steal my prize.

I am a monster.

I am the thing you hide from in your bed at night.

This pretty face,

This sexy body,

Is just a distraction from what is really lurking underneath.

I will tear you apart, limb by limb,

Piece by piece,

Until you are nothing, but a shell of what was once a human being. 

And you,

You will just let it happen.

Because who would deny this pretty, innocent being?

With that being said, 

Do you still want to be my baby?

Please Try

I am an unloveable, disturbed human being.

I am delusional and detach from reality on the regular.

I am a perfectionist who will only accept the best.

I am a monster who dreams about horror and destruction

However, I want someone to try.

I want someone to call me theirs.

I want someone whose love is on par with God’s.

I want someone who will pick up the pieces and put me back together.

I want someone to love me for my insanity and instability.

Happy Holidays

I’m not the best at giving gifts. I actually hate giving gifts and the holiday season that is surrounded by gift-giving. However, I wanted to try for you. I spent days searching the stores for a suitable gift for you, maybe even weeks. However, a gift came to mind when I saw you getting close with one of my co-workers, Ottessa. 

Ottessa was a new girl to the company I worked at. She was always running copies for the boss, taking calls for the boss and having private lunches with him. Everyone in the office suspected they were fucking each other, but no one had the bravery to ask and confirm it. Ottessa was a siren and I suspected, after having her way with the boss, she moved on to my boyfriend.

I noticed their abnormal relationship after she took it upon herself to visit me at my residence. She didn’t have an invitation and I’m still unsure how she got my address. But once she entered my home and made eye contact with my boyfriend, I knew things would go downhill from there. After that event, the two had been getting lunch together and she would even come over when I wasn’t at home. Also, My boyfriend had been less affectionate and would claim to be working ‘overtime’ at his job. 

I am definitely not stupid, but I love playing as if I am. So I let things slide and just put on a smile as I planned my gifts for the holiday season. 

The day of Christmas had arrived and I noticed my boyfriend had been feeling down lately. Ottessa has quit her job at my company and hasn’t been seen for days. Everyone at the office assumed she just ran off with some married man for the holidays and might appear again soon. 

On Christmas morning, I woke up early to make my boyfriend breakfast and served it to him in bed. He gave me a half-hearted smile and began eating.

“Would you like your gift now? I’m super excited to show you the gift I got you.” My boyfriend nodded and I ran to the living room to get his present from under the tree. The present was kind of heavy, around eleven pounds, and was very difficult to retrieve and wrap, but I had to do it for him. To show him how much I loved him. 

I placed it in his lap and he immediately began tearing at the wrapping paper. He stopped, in horror, when he realized what the present was. In a glass case, was Ottessa’s head, centered with her eyes scooped out of her eye sockets. Her eyes were placed in her opened mouth, on her dry tongue. On top of her bouncy, black curls was a note that said, Merry Christmas, Honey. He slowly looks up at me with his eyes filled with fear and his mouth open, unable to speak. 

I just wanted to give him a gift he would remember for years to come. And I think I succeeded. 

Loving you isn’t enough

It wasn’t enough to love you.

It wasn’t enough to love you the way normal couples loved each other.

I wanted to show you something new and different, something unique and soul-binding.

I want to open up the folds of the universe and dig deep to find a new heavenly way to love you.

I want to unearth the dead languages of the world to express how much I adore you.

Gods, angels, demons will weep at the love I have and express for you.

I want, I need to become you.

I need to possess you. 

I need to love you in a way that has existed long ago.

I need to become it. 

Become the being that terrifies you, but you can’t seem to get away.

Isn’t that romantic?

Romantic Urges

The urge to run my stiletto nails down his dark skin.

The urge to enter his dreams whenever I’m away from him.

The urge to learn dead languages of the world just to express my love for him.

The urge to perform binding rituals together whenever the moon is full.

The urge for him to leave bruises on my heart-shaped ass.

The urge to possess him and allow him to possess me.

The urge to turn myself into his worst nightmare.

The urge to cover ourselves in our own blood and swear to never leave each other.

The urge to destroy anything that gets in the way of our obsession with each other.

Zoe

We met under the stairs during group therapy.

She wore the deep green dress that brought out her eyes.

We talked until we couldn’t get any more words out.

Then,

She kissed me.

On the lips.

It wasn’t the kiss that bothered me,

She was an amazing kisser.

It wasn’t her fingers climbing up my thigh,

I didn’t mind it.

It was the fact that I liked it.

I liked the kiss with Zoe.

I liked the kiss with a girl.

I liked it.

I really, really did like it.

And that scared me more than anything.