Looking at you with purpose, this thing, this wretched thing, this thing with an irrefutably misguided agenda.
It leaps, with its claws of anticipation spread wide. It leaps, ready to dig in to your soft, tender vulnerablilities. It leaps.
And in they go, those claws sliding flawlessly into place, injecting the poison. While looking into your terrified eyes it whispers..
And gracefully you fall. You fall with exigency, and purpose. You fall simply, into a world of grotesque pleasure. And that, that creates your
f a l l.
Those claws begin to squeeze. They squeeze and violate your insides. They squeeze, in a sick, romantic way. They squeeze and therefore.
You panic. You panic, while looking every which way to locate the cause of your now unbearable pain, your torture, your sorrow. You panic as you realize you are the victim to this horrendous rape of emotions.
Looking down into its eyes you falter, confusion swamping your body.
You're unable to grasp the concept of having allowed yourself to enjoy being vulnerable, only to have your vulnerabilities stripped away from you. You are unable to accept the fact that it has finished its dirty deed while being so reticent, and meticulous. You are unable to recognize the detestable nature of your naiveté.
And therefore, you let it go.
©Brenlyn Aubree Pline