See me through

See through me. See me through. See the difference? You’re right, there isn’t one.

Don’t do too much, I say to myself, over and over. Take a deep breath and don’t do too much. Less is more and don’t do too much. Never give up and don’t do too much. Lock the fuck in and don’t do too much.

In the last abyssal crunch of empire, I am a blacksmith’s daughter. I am up early and ratcheting up the rat-catching. I am not repaying my debts. I am slamming my hand between hammer and anvil and lifting, with a rancid expression, the pulsing baby blue up to the last of the lamplight. You bought me then, lies and all. You fell for a girl so sour and so sweet. In our fight to the death, you reach for my face. But where’s the bill of sale? Reach into your pocket and find only a peach pit.

I am not perfect but I swear, an angel could have sweated no better. My mind ribboned itself and began to flow, like blood but better, in a quest to inhabit my body. Every drop of nectar knew where to go. Saturating every inch of skin from the inside, until I was sick with it, sick and jittery and living inside an acid battery of awareness. A woman so tenderly possessed, sucked in by a feeling that is really a place inside her.

But some days, terrifyingly, it doesn’t work. I start the sequence, reaching in to find my mind paved over like a parking lot. I can only play me like a performance, then play me like a con artist. Backed up at the chokepoint. Itchy with the memory of all that forward momentum. A pervert’s princess, dethroned. Head rolling a red line down the cobblestones. But don’t do too much, I remind myself. You’ve haven’t wanted anything so much in years but don’t do too much. You’ll never sleep again if you don’t get there but don’t do too much.

I wanted you to like me. I wanted you to hate me. I wanted you to resist me, then desire me. I want to be your first and last contradiction. You looked at me and saw it all. No, that’s only my projection, because I have this expectation that my mind can be read like type, interpreted like an animal cry. But I tried to make it easy for you. I cracked the runes like eggs in an effort to simplify. I got on one knee, balancing the lambskin sword on both palms. I broadcast the message through every wet surface, every instance of failed artistry. Then I met your eyes instead of running my mouth. I met your eyes the way they do in the dark, in the cheap seats, on the end of days. Tears, illuminated. You looked at me and saw nothing. You looked at me and said, don’t do too much.