Pain Confessional

Wired intensity is what I think we call chemical electricity as applied to human connectivity. He was wired to me, strapped to the volts created of my understanding and he charged me, lit up my rooms of living. My plug to operational status. We seemed to just go together. The perfect action and reaction. Yet the wiring was tampered with aging and rearranging something already constructed and tested, installed and cataloged. Now just tattered and waiting to be updated, painted and called new.
Now the confession of the pain I hide deep inside burrowing beneath repressed child hood memories, next to child safety lock, option number two.. Deep inside behind the birth canal I tried to bury you in those things once exposed was something that I just knew, an experience that didn’t have to be recalled, re installed or labeled with a different name. Want to forget the surge of wired intensity that was invisible to the world yet seen so clearly in our surroundings. The lock I wore, the key you held. The rhythm we are, the beat we create. The one entity we complete, two souls ready to mate. Yet I must release those images, replace them with the disadvantages that are born of our differences, our pained moments never forgiven, forgotten or mistaken for just obstacles, we had already prepared for. The confessional of a pain still strong. The desire to make what is wrong… Just a past, a mishap of kindness acting, love reacting, fear attacking. The desire to not swell in that wrong to long.
The secret that I never reveal is that after all this time I still don’t feel like it healed, that place that you then resided inside of me that allowed me to not hide yet appear. That secret that I think of you in the sweat of his sex, the softness of his caress, in the whisper of his love, I still see you. Feel you, smell you. The role he plays is you, a battery operated jolt of my self made wired connectivity.

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