I'm not a poet
Pondering.
Wondering.
Swimming through a mass of coagulated hormones.
She rips out one hair.
The follicle tells all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He stands--strong, confident.
She stands--weak, vulnerable.
In an instant a siren is roaring inside her head:
"HE ONLY WANTS TO EAT YOU!!"
Well, she doesn't really want to be eaten.
She doesn't want to listen, either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He takes her by the hand.
She lets him;
Her aura ingests his sweat.
"HE ONLY WANTS TO EAT YOU!!"
She chose to ignore the warning.
Blatant, though she is disillusioned.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She waits.
He attacks;
Like a spider and so much more
His fangs sink into her soul.
She is poisoned now.
"OH GOD, HE'S EATING ME!!"
Yet, she does not fight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It feels good, being eaten.
Liberating, warm.
He chose to start with the nose.
She can't smell the danger anymore.
No, now she is a victim, entirely.
He continues his succlent feast, leaving nothing but scraps.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She is not dead.
Or so says the follicle.
Only asleep, waiting for the antidote.
Wondering.
Swimming through a mass of coagulated hormones.
She rips out one hair.
The follicle tells all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He stands--strong, confident.
She stands--weak, vulnerable.
In an instant a siren is roaring inside her head:
"HE ONLY WANTS TO EAT YOU!!"
Well, she doesn't really want to be eaten.
She doesn't want to listen, either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He takes her by the hand.
She lets him;
Her aura ingests his sweat.
"HE ONLY WANTS TO EAT YOU!!"
She chose to ignore the warning.
Blatant, though she is disillusioned.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She waits.
He attacks;
Like a spider and so much more
His fangs sink into her soul.
She is poisoned now.
"OH GOD, HE'S EATING ME!!"
Yet, she does not fight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It feels good, being eaten.
Liberating, warm.
He chose to start with the nose.
She can't smell the danger anymore.
No, now she is a victim, entirely.
He continues his succlent feast, leaving nothing but scraps.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She is not dead.
Or so says the follicle.
Only asleep, waiting for the antidote.