There's Rain and There's Oil

Hey Guys, this story is now featured in the first issue of Up ... check it out!

Sweatpants are sundresses and secret caresses. Yes, I've seen the bruises on the backs of your thighs. Everything now nothing, no loving no laughing; your words are cold and they are blood, the lies are clouding your eyes. Your skin is shedding and your teeth are thin. Your bones are bending from within. You have left tracks in the dirt.

Etched in your back, under your shirt with my hand and my nails, our names inside a line; it was a heart and we cried, drunk from the wine, abandoning everything and time. Now there's a blanket in the boot of our car; two empty glasses and your e-mails are written in French. The stench of the con, the truth of the trick. You are a brick in the water but I cannot let you go.