Gravity pulls us down with its fingers

Quick 1st draft from Theory of Constraints: The Uncertainty Principle,

Luciano to Sasha:

It's that smile you show me, and hide from the others, you know the one I mean. You give it to me like it's a secret, a coded message. I've been wasting my energy deciphering what you were trying to tell me with that stare that swallows me whole. 

It's not a message. It's a loaded gun, teasing me with an end to my suffering, the way the light shines hell in your eyes, like a twinkle of hope, hatred and lust all at once. All my senses become alive when I'm near you, i devolve into an animal with a need to take what's mine. I don't like this side of me, but when I hear you speak, I'm yours, nothing else matters, not even your words, just that you chose to spend your breath on me. I'm in your orbit, that's all that matters.

Your fate is twisted with mine. You're here to destroy me, to save me, to strip me down to the bone. I don't want to be saved, no no. Fuck that. I need you to listen to me, kill me before I become any less of me, and more of...this. 

Stop promising me warmth, it's not meant for me, I was built for this, I was born to suffocate in my unlived potential and watch everything I carefully put into motion, hurt everyone around me. It is my purest skill, to undo myself so much that it poisons the room and shuts the door. 

You're already gotten closer to me than I ever planned. I tried to remain neutral, but it felt like I was lying anytime I didn't give you everything. I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry for what this is doing to you too. It's my fault, I never should have reached so far, I should have learned from Icarus. 

I just really thought, I really truly thought, with the optimism of a child untouched by this terrible world, that I could make something of myself, you know? Who doesn't dream to change the world, I thought I could, no, I knew I could. And I was unfortunately right.  I found a way, I always do, but like the rest of my life, all my intentions become shrapnel and burst like knives, only now, it's no longer figurative speak. It's rotting under my bed. It's seeping in my drains. It's the collection of shoes and wallets in my basement. It's digesting in my stomach and it clings to my teeth. Get away from me, if you can't kill me, like I need you to, then fucking leave, and do it quickly. Don't tell anyone you were here.

-Luciano

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