Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "still-me"
Beautiful Death. Robert M Ball
In a bare room dusty with longings, she pulled a hard chair made of oak and thistle, in the middle of her space, making him sit down on it, the ungraceful chair trembling with their mingled thoughts.
She moved down his arms, firmly setting them by his sides that became warm by her resentment. She tied a glistening lobster bib around his neck, her movements made slender by her fingertips.
Then she fed him his own words, one by one spooning them in, poisoning him slowly. Words he was crazy enough to give her in their quiet moments.
The truth was, he had only given her his words simply because she had asked him.
Next, she tossed, upturned and then upended an entire barbecue sauce (her own recipe) bottle, pouring all of it on his face, his mouth parting open in protest.
She watched it go all the way down his throat.
He wasn't pinned, he could move. He didn't, neither did she.
They both burned. Both of them. But for very different reasons.
She moved down his arms, firmly setting them by his sides that became warm by her resentment. She tied a glistening lobster bib around his neck, her movements made slender by her fingertips.
Then she fed him his own words, one by one spooning them in, poisoning him slowly. Words he was crazy enough to give her in their quiet moments.
The truth was, he had only given her his words simply because she had asked him.
Next, she tossed, upturned and then upended an entire barbecue sauce (her own recipe) bottle, pouring all of it on his face, his mouth parting open in protest.
She watched it go all the way down his throat.
He wasn't pinned, he could move. He didn't, neither did she.
They both burned. Both of them. But for very different reasons.
