Ceremony of the Bracelets

October 21, 2008 at 8:02 pm (Fun, Writing Exercises) (, , )

Your bracelets will be my undoing, I’ve decided. Not the delicate wrists they weigh down, but the silver bangles themselves. If you had less of a fashion sense, I may have survived you.

When my body lays decrepit in the corner of a dark room, and I start to smell like rot, it won’t be you I’m thinking of. Though your smooth, dark skin holds power over me now, and though, in this moment, I’m held captive by your almond eyes, they shall lose all their sway once I’m lying in that room.

Not lose–they shall give that power away, transfer it into the silver you’ve adorned your body with.

As I lay in that corner, trembling slightly while I feel myself decay, my mind’s eye shall torture me with your bracelets.

Just your bracelets, I wish to make clear. While right now I dive into the deepest throes of ecstasy picturing each bangle slide past your fingers, over your wrist and down your slender forearm, once in the corner of that shit-hole room, your body will have no control over me. No, I’ll picture your bracelets in a dark mid-air nothingness.

My mind’s eye will trace the curve of silver; it will follow the reflective shine go around in circles. I’ll take my time, lying in that room’s corner. It takes a long time for the body to decompose, so I know I’ll be in no rush. In my mind, I’ll trace every bracelet you’ve ever worn in my presence. I’ll linger over those heavy, chunky ones, the ones that looked too big for your tiny wrists. I’ll remember the weight of those large bangles until the last of me is turned over to the maggots.

There will be no flashbacks to those moments before bed when you’d hand me your bracelets, one by one. My present self is too greedy to share those memories of your body, naked but for the metal on your wrists. Now is when I see those moments, feeling the sacred weight, the metallic proof of your heritage in my hands. Amazing how the smallest of ceremonies can become the most powerful.


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