The rain shivered out in me,
Hissing softly, brushing my hands, fingers, it's curious, black,
Forked snake's tongue repeating a weird and sensual strike on the crown of my head.
We had walked home side by side and I had sensed the dark then, waiting for me,
The scent of the world so very sterile, so very wet, like useless tears.

In the house the pain came hitting me like a pin, small and precise,
As all of my things. I don't remember much else, the words came out like
Nothings, like breaths, like empty landscapes, they were almost numb, nothing like my hurt.
I can just remember holding the pillow to my chest,
Like an
old friend.

I do remember the sound. Not my tears, but the whack, the thick sound. I turned.
You sat still. The noise again. The next time I turned your hands were in fists and they were
Slamming, smacking, beating your head, your face,
Anything really, I hated the sounds, how you screamed like a huge crazed monkey,
Like rabies or depression, like a mantis masturbating, eating its own head
For pleasure.

The side of your forehead and cheekbone were slightly raised,
And I could almost tell from the heat there,
Throbbing, inane. You had bludgeoned yourself. I licked my own tears off my face.
Sick of me to feel it, I supposed, then, but out of the terror I sucked out the incredible virus of love
In the wound, I felt it beneath your skin, moving like a parasite,
Truly moving and eating you.

How could I blame you? Clearly I saw the germ of my touch
Had infected your brain, sent you insane.