Underworld
I tiptoe to the bathroom, bare, my arms wrapped around my sloping breasts, shutting the door so i can pee.
I close my eyes and raise my face up to the ceiling, wash my hands and sigh. I can hear him snoring out on the couch and I want to run away but instead I slip over to him quietly and sly like a cat in the dark and touch his hair. He stirs in his sleep, but doesn't dare leave the dream world. I don't blame him. I see his pants on the ground by the couch, revealed from the moonlight spilling in, and I pull them on over my woman's hips, grab his coat, and slink outside, leaving the front door unlocked.
It is a bug underworld out on the porch, spiders parade their territory above my head, moths circle with warning, while the dead ones scream silently from the after world, their wings fluttering with fear. I understand how they feel, those dead moths, trapped in a spidery web, unable to break free even after their last breath, still waiting to be digested as ghosts.
I know that I could steal the keys and leave right now, he wouldn't know. I've done it before, slipped away. I always blame it on my past, use it as an excuse, fear clinging to me like a filmy web so I can't fly. I just don't know how. He always makes it look so easy.
How can you fly when you are a dead moth, trapped in a spider web of betrayel and lies? My past blooms all over my body like an inky bruise.
I stare at his truck, the peeling paint. How easy to just slip away, like his cat did. He never got over that god damn cat. I could just make my disapearing act. One two three, how the audience would applaud!
Instead I go back inside, and shutting the door with a bang, I slide onto the floor. I will not cry, I will not cry.
I am a dead moth, I will not cry.