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my other side once said to me that "it's better to fall into the hands of a murderer than into the dreams of a lustful woman."
i acutely remember being over-obtuse with vulnerability.
shaky ground has befallen trust, so i handed her this litmus
and a request to end all involuntary bliss..
she was
like so-so,
almost,
well; sort of,
more or less halfway pretty.
i guess it might have been neglect,
an unfortunate vehicle birth?
maybe allocated self-tarnishment.
she was only half lifted, wings flapping when
[staring into scabbed-over eyes]
i thought of an afterthought:
of wanting to share more than just
one nightmare at a time.
suddenly overcome with spells of:
sleeping limbs and chainsaws.
sex and blood splatter.
vertigo from climax.
even before i turned,
half expecting the way black,
i was malicious with dark.
words
