Sunday, 23 May 2010

Comic Book Supervillain

I dress up like a character in a story. In your story. Iron my hair flat and paint my lips bright sticky sour-cherry red so that you will look at them and know that if you kiss them it will stain your mouth and everyone will know. I want everyone to know.

I play a supervillain so I don't have to show that I care.

And your girl, your prettysugarsweet girl who is not me, who is quite far from me really, who has fewer hands on her, fewer marks and scars, is guaranteed to make me feel like a bad-girl cliche swept into town to steal her man. Swaggering down city streets far from home in battered cowboy boots, wishing someone else would come distract me.

A few tried.

And so I can taste you still, taste your messy kisses that threaten to mess me up, feel the fence at my back and your hand on my leg and most of the time I like arms, shoulders, hips but with you it's the line of your neck and the way you hold your head that makes me think you'd be a good lover. A giving one but confident too. Your whispered "I'd fuck you senseless" makes me believe you, unlike most guys who say it. No, you mean it and it would be good. Delicious.

But I walk away feeling like I'm playing a character in a story, a story with too many twists and turns and yet filled with stock characters that people wouldn't even believe on a big screen. Maybe in a comic. Where I'd have to get what I deserve in the end, be defeated by the forces of goodness and watch you ride off into the sunset with your arms around her.

Well, I'll probably have to do that anyway.

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