Safety is a Myth

She’s behind me.

Always behind me: poking me prodding me, behind and bothering me. Her face is squashed against the glass of my brain. Her drool foams and clouds against my barrier of hope, as her naked hips pump and her thighs scream of dark destinies untaken.

My head shakes in negation and my stomach churns with bile. My face jerks to the right, my chin bangs against my shoulder: Body spasms to undo my minds betrayal.

My teeth grind.

I hold myself with the glistening of grass as the wind blows the blades south; the sparkle of the mica as the setting sun reflects against the pavement. How do we forget the things that fascinate ourselves as children? When do we stop seeing the shiny things; when do we stop chasing after the random butterflies that flitter by, rather than catching the ball?

And she sees you, so complacent in your love. She will hurt you, your protests notwithstanding. How arrogant we are in being alive. She sees the meat of my heart and longs to end her fast; she grinds her teeth, as my teeth gnash....

The long and sallow light fades behind, and the feeling of death is dearth aligned. I can feel the pulse of her desire beat in my nipples alive with neglected heat; I need to take my face off and be who I am underneath...

She will wait.

In all hell and hopeless laughter, she will wait.