Whiskey-burn kisses
Fuel the hurt in your eyes.
Can't stop it, can you?
The fear, the hate, the self-loathing;
You mark my skin with the bruises
No one can see under yours.
pain
The Lone Fool’s Lament
If there was any doubt whether there exists a beating heart in this chest, the wretched pain you see in me from watching you fall in love should be enough to prove otherwise. Like a clumsy moth you beat against the meagre flame that is my soul and leave your dust inside me—it pollutes me.
You know... I can feel you.
Every motion, every eye blink and intake of breath turned into a game of mirrors with your shadow mimicking mine. Alas, when I look, chancing to catch those bright chameleon eyes, your head turns away.
It cannot be both. You are mine, or you are not.
I call myself too good to play this fucking game of yours, yet here I sit, the caustic fool putting pen to paper in the twisted parody of a love letter.
Oh, that my words were spikes I could drive deep to carve my name onto your bones. Instead, I dull their sharp edges on my own flesh and sit here a wounded thing, unable even to rail at the villainous treason of my own heart.
On pain, injury, and recovery… and how I’m an idiot.
I tend to put my characters through some really tough scrapes that they have to recover from so I thought I'd share some of my own experience with injury and recovery... I have nearly died from the result of injury or illness more times than I can count on both hands, but I'll only touch on injury and leave illness to another time.
I grew up in a family of superheroes when it comes to injury and recovery. Last year my dad nearly cut off his toes while cutting out rotten flooring in the boat. Bleeding everywhere, he laughed and took out a beer to drink before making his way to the emergency room to get stitched up. That's just the way my dad is.
When watching movies with my dad and brother, we tend to mutter things at the screen like: "Oh for fuck's sake... It's only a broken arm! Just splint that fucker and quit your whining!"
My brother and I both wound up with boxer's fractures (both fifth metacarpal). He laughed when the bone was reset. Me? I cut my cast off after three days because I had to take an exam and didn't want to reschedule (see, that wasn't exactly smart... I have a hard time opening jars with my right hand now).
It hurt, but it didn't hurt.
I've been hurt loads of times:
- When I sprained my back about ten years ago, the doctor couldn't understand how I had walked there.
- I'm pretty sure I broke my radius when I was seven years old but, because I wasn't crying enough, my mother didn't believe me, and I never went to the doctor.
- I severely bruised three ribs, but I went out clubbing the next night.
- I had major surgery a few years ago, and I was on my feet within hours.
- I've run on sprained ankles, I've hit my head so hard my skull is now dented, etc.
I tend to just brush off pain.
There is, however, one exception: luxating patellas aka "trick knees"
I am loose-jointed. What that means is that my limbs all hyperextend to a certain amount. It's a genetic thing, and it means I'm really flexible (oh yeah). It also means that my kneecaps are a little loose. There are exercises that I'm supposed to do to get the muscles to help keep my kneecaps from slipping... but they don't always work.
When you dislocate your knee it hurts like hell. I've done it three times now.
The joys of getting older is that you don't heal as fast, so the last time I dislocated my left knee (the trickier of the two) took nearly three months to heal properly. It actually still hurts.... I should probably see a doctor at some point.
Because I'm an idiot, and I should take better care of myself. Right?
