bang bang

His thumb is not permeating heat. It is just existing, a little stained with red and a little wrinkled.
He is painting the sky. A warm sky pregnant with blood oranges and peonies. Scented peonies. Carnations blooming under a fat sun. Carnations. Carnations have the word "carne" in them. They're so meaty, so full. So much. I think sex. I think perfume. Stop it.
I paint the fields, green and gold and lemony.
"Looks like snot"
Interruption. It is rather snot-like. I put green on his blue shirt. It looks like a beautiful wave. I add another on his arm. He doesn't even flinch but grabs my waist and digs his fingers in.
His nails are caught in my pastel skirt. Banging out the hurt.
"Ha! You thought you could hurt me back!"
I feel so triumphant.
He only just looks at me. Narrows his eyes and stands still.
"No, I only just wanted to grab hold of you"
*

That mustard yellow carpet. I take a long drag and want to wake up in hell. Bit of a warm cushion.
*
Albuquerque. Cold empty and cold cold sand outside. Sand trickling down. I get my best work done under the gun. Under the goddamn gun girl. Under that big barreled perfect glistening gun that drips vodka drips rationality drips some sort of pacifying liquid that stains the floor red and gold and bits of blue and oh wait did you know those colours make up a certain flag. You bet your bottom dollah they do. dollah dollah pretty doll face girl. get those dollahs out and live this life to the full.
*
I tell Paul I need time, that I need space and that men don't scare me anymore. In fact, I know them inside out. Inside out girl? Inside. Out.
I pack my bags upstairs and Mamma comes in delicately the way she does when she'd slip me a new shirt from grandpa's pension. And I'd take it back to the store and buy grandpa a fishing rod instead. It wasn't a gift. It was just karma. dollah karma.
She looks me up and down with those soft lashes and tells me I'll mess this up so good despite how much I have.
I tell her I'll make more from the loss. I tell her she didn't write me - she only made me. Clay, sand. Cold cold sand outside. Sand trickling down.
I get my best work done under the gun?
Joce baby it all goes so fast.
It does. bang bang