Upon my flesh I felt the crawl
Of his penetrating gaze
—the deepest corners of my
mind did it invade,
and flashed the crimson lusts
of a perverted sense of love,
one to which I cross my legs.

Merge with the crowds,
—no…no I don’t feel safe
—crowds, colors to blend,
to lose the tracking of
unwanted friends.

But like a nagging forgetfulness
Is the icy fingers that creep up
My spine—and the beading
Sweat of liquid fear that
Warns me you are near.

The gasping—grasping
—shoving, running,
why didn’t I…
kill curiosity?, but
the roots are too deep,
and now he haunts
me when I should
sleep.

But I’ve betrayed safety,
For his cruel footsteps,
Like an iron death,
Sobbing, sobbing
—Gently they step…
But his presence isn’t
Right,
His mind like a
Perverse, broken, backwards
Clock…
And all I hear
Is
Tick tock,
Tick
Tock.

—death is counting upon
my moments,
and my sides feel like
splitting, my mouth: like
a shattered earthen pottery
painted with blood, as a
gnawed lip leaks upon my
tongue.

Desperation dries my eyes,
As the clatter of my
Footsteps echo with
The tar of the road, it’s
Black stretching down
The path—my inevitable
End, my path, the reverberating
Doom that bounces upon the
Uncaring of the uniform buildings,

—my legs, my legs,
breath comes like I’m
sucking on a straw;
oh how I drew the
short one,
—like twisted cloth that
bunches upon a gear, my
muscles freeze and my
feet flee, and nothing
but slimy black of endless road
do I entreat to catch
my already forgotten
being.

The impact place stones of
Sick humility upon my palms,
Their sticky blood strikingly
Bright against the dusk and
Rain of an ally washed with
Debris and a stone encased pain.

I stumble up, my heart,
My mental blockade to
Feelings, feelings, feelings…
—a fear, like the salt
mixed in my mouth,
the sandpaper tongue, the feverish
sweat and the broken
conscience.

And a hand as welcoming
As a snake’s seething poison
In a broken wound,
His hand grips my shoulder

—screams don’t escape
when one rushes to take
what little chance
at fate,
a focused punch,
and shuddering crunch
of cartilage,
My ankles swollen,
Reflexes dulled,
I turn to flee,
A graceful beauty
Of a walking corpse
As he
Jumps,
—My legs so elegantly
splayed upon the cushions
of plastic trashbags, and
rotting, dead, slickly wet
garbage—a smell so
beautifully appetizing,
as the tasteful bile of
revulsion rises to spew
upon the wretched
carnage of a putrid
perfume of refuse.

And I know before he
Turns me to face him—
His features
Etched upon the jagged
Lines of fear, and the
Haggard outlines of
The coiled despair,
And the teeth as
White as fainting
Eyes—his beauty
Masked in the
Darkened sky—the
Tall buildings unfeeling
Witnesses of such a
Display of
Execution.

—Hands clutch at
broken glass, as his crush
my throat—my futile struggle
won’t last,
and upon a feeling of humming
darkness I focus on the drip,
drip
drip
of a water spout leaking
the polluted water of
this November,
my lower body bare upon
the plastic sheets as pains
cover me in callous
hands of harsh reality.

And his gusting puffs of acidic
Breath keep my mind from the
Theft of something so irrevocably
Lost.

‘You must hate me.’ I hear the
words, like ashen worms crawling
from rotted lips,
his hands
continue
a killing path
across my body,
as his voice cracks,
and laughs, he
knows my future—
he holds my future,

he kisses my mouth
—not even an inch of me
remains,
his saliva like vodka,
his tongue the match—
and flames engulf my
paper tongue, my wooden
teeth,
as a knife sinks so
deep.

‘You’ll forgive me,’ he whispers
while his knife continues to carve his
affections in my frigid flesh,
my blood he licks from my breast,
as my heart fights against the creeping
rest—

I feel the violation, it continues,
Continues,
And hate is so simple a word,
So simple.
I fear, I fear, I fear
And I hear the whispers
Of all the others he has
Staked upon that knife,
And my life, my life,
My life,
Seems so small
Compared to a
Endless cycle of
Madness…

The cold metal rests against
The flesh of my throat, it’s red
Irony of my blood, almost
Black—I lack the feeling to
Care, my wounds—they wonder
Why I remain still—impassioned;
His eyes gleaming ebony of a glassy
Heartless.

‘Death,’ His hands cup my cheeks,
‘Loved you,’ and the knife remembers
It’s craving for my blood—
Then it sliced, my skin covered
With a crimson flood.