Prompt: Determined footsteps on slick obsidian.
I wish you had stayed in the guest room. My feet treading my floors heavily, black as obsidian, slick where you lay. I can’t be alongside you, I can’t let it flow from me to you anymore, it burns the night and slays the dawn and I am so lost, so lost in you. There are fingertips making me lose my religions, but you can’t leave me alone. I can’t leave you alone, you said you loved me and I said it too, but what does that mean when we can’t be in the same room?
The guest room, the guest room, it was all my fault - I got naked first. You were in the guest room, right next door. I could feel you through the walls, and it was all my fault. The obsidian is calling to me, you are calling to me. Underneath your teeth, it was like home, breaking me apart like a jeweler looking for a gold mine in their false gods. I keep thinking about you in the worst way, just laid out, your footsteps running down my arms. You never told me what you thought about obsidian, did you? Did you know it was supposed to give you strength, did you know it was supposed to ward off the pressures, the excess of stress - the excess of what was coming from the gods damned bedroom. I wish you left my tongue alone, left me alone naked in the rug of fire, wrapped around the consciousness of a god, entrails leaking from the eyes and sifting through my soul like a dog through the garbage bin. Coyotes don’t know what excess means, but they see a dying breed when they come upon it. I am the dying breed, it was all my fault. My obsidian floor did nothing to save me, it left me alone, it left me alone. What kind of witch is abandoned by her own? It was all my fault, and I stayed in your guest room. You pinned me down, teeth in my hair, ripped my heart into diamond shards, and carried me to bed.
Don’t let the night stay black, turn me away, don’t look back. Bring the obsidian to my door, leave it on the floor. My feet are black, my heart is black, my arms are cold, I lost myself to you again. And I don’t think I want it back. I don’t think I can take her back. She’s gone, isn’t she?