THEY WANT BLOOD
They want blood – dark twisted pain, torn flesh and fantasy.
They don’t know you, the real you because they don’t wish to, not really. They only see the sum of the puzzle – parts they long to gobble, picking at your tawdry buffet, wanting to destroy it, wallow in it, and feed off of it until a better piece of meat presents itself for the carnage that comes from the mindless, frenzied, pointless devouring, of things.
Taking things, using things, abusing things, like recalcitrant children throwing fits of silent inner rage, playing games of hide and seek with imaginary people, and imagined selves.
Lost, all the while really just wishing that once, just once, someone, somewhere, would see them, know them, understand them, and feel them as they cannot feel.
In my sleep you came, all stillness,
muse-shadowed like night kissed by the wet tongue of Morpheus.
I devoured you there, painted you under the moon – velvet lust in red strokes,
silver etchings of tears.
People don’t change.
They dance around the consistency of who they are destined to become anyway, the way we did together. Sway, and I danced with you, and we pretended for an instant that we were not afraid, that together we were invincible.
God, we were stunning.
Shocking, like a train wreck.
Surprising, like a tragedy.
Shattered, we were beautiful.
So take me now, again.
Grab my hands and I’ll clutch yours.
Drown with me, lover, in gorgeous deceit and, as your lungs burst, when the fear flares, don’t forget to hold tight because together we’re invincible.