End of the Naughties


“Unspoiled. Ripe. Just Perfect.” Remember these words that I told you? I said them right before I gave you my body and surrendered on the floor to you.

Right Ziad?

I said them before you fell down in silence to everything I said and before you gave me lame excuses. I said them before you grazed me with the rough surface of your dry cold skin.

You’re unspoiled but you’re the meanest person I’ve ever met.

You’re ripe but poisonous to eat.

You’re perfect but unwilling to act perfectly.

Did you like kissing me while I moved my hands through your hair?

Did you like me whispering sensually in your ear telling you that I want you? That you’re orgasmic?

Did you Ziad?

What did you think of me when you had me moist and wet under your crushing body, weighing me down like gravity? Did you like playing me like a puppet?

Did you Ziad?

Did you like grazing the scars on my back with your hard fingertips? Did you like sucking on my nipple; closing my eyes as you did, letting me enjoy every moment of it in utter bliss?

Did you Ziad?

Did you enjoy me coming?

…And I thought you’re weird and someone special…and I thought that maybe you wouldn’t mind my past and who I was…and I thought you could see who I am without all the shit that covers me from top to bottom. How gullible I was. I even thought that you may give me some ease of mind.

They call you Jesus? You’re not. You are the antichrist.

You’re a liar and a hypocrite and a user. You’re weak and afraid and trembling. I trusted you. The ability to trust people again elevated me. But then you let me fall. You dragged me down from my center. And down I went. You told me I was one step away from the grave and you pushed me. And down I went.

Did I make you uncomfortable? Did you want to go but felt obliged and burdened by my pathetic misery?

Did you Ziad?

You condemned my past and shackled me with your unfaltering, somewhat pure vision and apparent innocence. You shoved my life right up in my face again. I guess I was the one with smudged eyes and a blurred vision for not seeing you as you really are; for letting you humble my presence and considering you the greatest adventure of my life yet.

Did you get disgusted when I told you who I was? Did satisfaction come and go so quickly like a message from God? Did you think twice about me when I opened the door of my house and let you in? Did I threaten your secure and rooted life? Did you get scared?

Did you Ziad?

You killed me in our eleventh hour. And maybe you’ll remember me as the gullible or obscure stranded queen. Maybe you’ve forgotten me already. But I’ll never forget. I’ll always remember you as the person who was not afraid to talk to me, who then fell in a dark silence that enraptured me under a black veil of self-destruction.

Me, I’m going to forget you instantly. You, you are going to remember me indefinitely, up until you can come to terms with what you have done, up until you confess and tell the world what you did. But even then you would not be pardoned, even then your memory will be plagued with the bitter residue of my smile, my moan, my purr, my sadness, my tears. But maybe you would be able to move on, enjoy a smile or two, meet a girl or two, learn from what you did to me, speak of what you did to me, and try to gain at-onement with whoever comes after me. I will still come to you, uninvited and undeclared, so suddenly and unexpected, in artificial light from which you will crave a dark solitude.

No one knows this more than me because I needed you and you left me. I needed you before I knew you existed, before I knew that I wanted you. I needed you to be able to come clean. I needed you to purge myself.

…and you will remember me as if I am in front of you, as if it is the first time you meet me, and for a moment, you will crave me once again, and you will want to know me better, but I will not be there. Did you know eternities are made up of moments?

Did you Ziad?

You did not even accept to hold me as I died.

You are the one who is twisted.

You are the one who is unstable.

You are the one who is dangerous.

Look at me: Spoiled.

Look at me: overly ripe, sour, seasoned and weathered.

Look at me: so far away from perfection.

…And I can still smell you on me.

Look at me with your burning gaze and unblinking eyes. Can you pierce right through the earth like you pierced me with your love? Can you stab six feet into the earth like you stabbed me with your fear?

Look at me: Dead.

Can you Ziad?


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