And they take and they take and they take..

On some days I feel amorphous, and uncontainable. I listen to my headphones, and focus as hard as I dare in public to not dissolve.

I feel like parts of me slither off, like spiraling ghosts of negative ectoplasmic intention to suck the energy of strangers. I can feel them in my sphere, sometimes even taste them as I slide past. Sometimes, when I walk by certain people, and their pheromones hit my nostrils and slams up to my brain all I can think is HUNGRY.

Why does this unnerve me so? What is it from them I am hungry for?

It trickled down the bathtub drain, burping all the way.

Maybe it's age. Or the seas of alcohol and other things I find to use as life analgesics to wash it all away. But how can I shake it off this fast?

I am bothered, but not cowed. I'm not afraid anymore of pain. My heart chipped and cracked and shook loose like plaster. But now I feel relief. Even freedom.

Am I free? Or am I riding the edge?

I suppose we'll know soon enough.

A sociopathic lover, like a subtle noose...

Lure me with sweet words and soft feathery touch. Lure me with deep looks and slyly divulged secrets.

I've got to shake you off, wash you from my sheets and body. Let you pool and sluice off me down the shower drain.

How it must feel to you. Does it feel like victory? Or is it a bittersweet prophecy you force yourself to fulfill over and over again?

Thank you for sacrificing me on the alter of your callousness. I needed to be reminded. Wash those stars out of my eyes. All that's left behind now are the traces of makeup that tears couldn't flush out.

You. Fucking. Asshole.

Really, you think it's a metaphor? Naw.

A special type of man loves their toys. They shine and sparkle, they make wonderful sounds. These objects can bend and twist and gasp and twine around them.

And when the toy is done or tarnished, this particular breed takes as great a pleasure in the destruction and crumpling of the once cherished plaything as they did in discovering it's character and features.

I always pick the wrong pony.

The tides shift...

When all else is stripped bare and away and the raw nerve of it is all peeled back, I am still a child. Shivering and shaking.

Like a caged animal my heart starts to race, the fear grips me. To be laid open and exposed. To be stripped down to the bone. It fills me with abject terror.

Lay back, I tell myself. My fists ball tightly, and I pace my wooden floors. I examine my books, my shells, the items in the tiny boxes I hide away secretly for myself. Just let go, I tell myself.

I have freely given the ability to hurt me away, and now I have to wait and watch and see. Can I hold up under the intensity of my own scrutiny? I'll push this time. I'll fight for what I want. I won't hide my face away. I won't smother my passion. I won't run away.

FUCK IT.

Throw your arms up girl, and jump. The falling is the best part. Do it for once.