Letter to Olly

Olly...I was sitting on the bus today, it groans and moans as it stops and pulls away...a sea of faceless people inhabit my dreams, some turn and speak with me, though no sound escapes their gaping mouthes which looks like black holes. I reached out to touch it...but it was out of reach...I thought of you Olly, the soft, mushy feel of your gaping wound, I can still see the maggots there, wriggling and pulsating as if though the wound itself had a heart with which it could beat. Do you still remember the rusted and dirty needles as it pierced through the fresh, pink flesh? Do you still have those dreams, Olly? Of where the oil draped accross your torso resembled that of a landslide as I ran by fingers accross the curves of your rib cage. You sank the blade deep into my stomach as we watched it dissappear. The pain reminding us that we were still alive, I still held your hand Olly, you tried to let go, but I held it tight, didn't I?
LetterstoOlly LetterstoOlly
31-35, F
Aug 22, 2014