on top of my tendons
breathing down my neck,
I'm perceiving closeness when the breath
is predatory.
the pupils that once grew larger
to see me,
to know me,
to feel me,
grow larger only now with hate,
seething,
I feel their coldness,
but the coldness draws me away from the heat of my anger.
fingertips familiar,
ridged tightly with the lines but no callous,
what is pain?
what is hurt?
cringing, bleeding--it's not what you think
love, reliance, support--took my fingertips from me,
gave all my insides.
the mind chuckles at me.
snickering at its playful game,
tossing my organs up like a pigskin.
falling up and down, catching my heart,
convincing me it isn't there.
clutching, pressing, where is it?
I can't find it. I'm frantic.
scratching, cutting, tearing,
searching.
the pupils.
they've taken it.
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