More-Like-Us

Perfect tanned Italian skin glowed faintly beneath the dim light fixture in the conner of my tiny room. My eyes racked over his motionless frame. His stomach did not rise, nor did it fall. His features relaxed and peaceful just as if he would someday wake up. My face twitched into a smile, looking down on what was now mine, forever. Shakily, I ran a finger over his shut eyelids, his skin frigid, yet still holding a sudden warmth. He was mine forever now. I attempted to forget how he became my possession. If he just said [i]yes[/i], he'd be able to feel the excitement I felt. It's not my fault, really. As a human being I long for possession,

His fingers drew patterns lazily on the exposed skin of his boyfriend's torso. He always had been artistic; with words or otherwise. The two boys laid wordlessly underneath the warm comforter; laying in each other's arms. Frank, the younger of the couple, nuzzled his head into the crook of his boyfriend's neck, desperate to move closer. His stomach tingling softly with every gentle movement of Gerard, the older and taller boy's, finger tips against his torso. Frank gingerly planted timid, minuscule kisses against his boyfriend's neck lovingly. For once everything was perfect. Exactly the way everything should be. "Hey, Frank," Gerard whisper

Dearest-- Somehow I feel that this would be easier if I was writing a song, or poem. As for my poetry, there’s only one word for it, and thousands of synonyms:  grotesque. It’s almost like I’m taking away from the seemingly non-existent beauty of my feelings by attempting to write about them. Almost as if there aren’t any correct words to articulate this strong feeling, and by trying so desperately I’m only weakening it. But, my dearest, I believe you have a right to know what I’m thinking whilst you sketch effortless masterpieces in your notebook. As if I need to tell you; how could you not know when my eyes a