Our Love Was Meant to be Dark and Morbid

Posted on March 22, 2008

Our love was meant to be dark and morbid.
By Mishel Rosario Reyes
Pen name: 1809 BPD Black Plague December
I let her do as she pleased. But would she shutter at my flaw. I looked at her with so much love. It
amused me how she never detested me-my Loraine Tiber.
I a monster, and she an angel sent from the heavens above. My divine brunette with deep brown
eyes, and her soft skin. She was astute, free spirited, a breath of fresh air, exotic.
She caressed me like no other woman has ever done. Thus, I decidedly hid the most dreadful of
agonies of mine. I wished no other. She uttered no man’s name but mine-Chester Banner.
“What are you drawing dear?” asked my little dove as I drew for her my forbidding secret. “A
man, my love.” I said as I put my feet lightly on the carpet, and flicked my pencil to the side.
“A man, let me see,” she said eagerly betaken. Her voice elegant as I expected it, and very
bemusing. “Child, it is not finished,” I said to her with a voice of annoyance.
Nonetheless, she crept behind my shoulder, and I grabbed her from the waist as she loved and
kissed her passionately. Her bosoms my favorite of proportion, and her long legs of seduction,
took me away.
“I can’t,” I said. Her cheekbones augmented to a nice red color and I sadly looked away. She
knew how far to go. “When?” she said.
“Darling, I must draw. It must be finished…”
“Is it our wedding present?” she interjected. She received none other but silence. She looked at
me with tears. I could feel her every need, but I was determined, by the love of God, not to show
her the creature I had become.
As she roamed the halls of our soon to be home state, I drew, and I drew what was once a man.
My Loraine was not patient with me, and spent much of her days writing me love letters, drawing
me to her best attributes.
“Loraine, come see!” I said to her one stormy night. She looked and smiled, for in the drawing
was me. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“It?” I asked.
“The drawing of you is beautiful,” she aggregated, softly, unsure of herself.
“I am a man there Loraine,” I angered.
“Yes, Chester, a handsome man”
“What if I was it?” I questioned as the rain poured outside our home state.
“What do you mean Chester?”
“Nothing, my dear,” I answered. If only she knew I was trying to upset her with my revelation to
be. But instead she figured it a trait of mine, my irritability to be an element to my attractiveness.
The night was young and I wanted it. Her, it, us. I had “it”. I took off little by little my skin and
began to eat it. I had a liking for my own flesh. Just a taste. Not much to kill me. Just enough to
scar me. Just enough to get the only texture that would satisfy me so much.
I nipped, and dazzled on how it would feel to nip “her” “us” “it”.
She needed not bother with the drawing. I could hear her yell. All I could think of is the nip of
“it” “her” “us”. The halls were long in our future estate just to ever think of “it” “her”
…………….us. Our love was meant to be dark and morbid. © 2007 1809 Bpd (black Plague December)
written by Mishel Rosario Reyes

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