it lies coiled, like a discarded extension cord, dusty, in the back of the garage; faulty, ready to shock upon contact.
balled under leaves tight, camouflaged by night.
its eye, half- covered, glitters neon, winking to a future of pain. Eve rises in your sex, staccato breath, aching for his fig leaf forbidden - you were born to peek underneath. you crunch forward, kicking leaves pendulum with your rhythmic stride.
crusted footsteps jar the forest's hush.
crunch. crunch. crunch.
eerie.
exciting.
evil.
you are hypnotized.
drum beats against your pig-skinned heart. the sheath barely seals in your past. an ill-fitting plastic wrap, rabid juices now froth and bubble down your chin.
"here, piggy, piggy, piggy..."
you've cleared a path now. the leaves have all been kicked away. no childhood jump into the pile, no frolic under a sprinkle of twirling crimson, rust and gold. you stop. and blink. you can no longer see in crystalline. your gaze tainted translucent.
[a cubic zirconian future.]
his bead flares emerald, flash forwarding you to that city of dreams. Oz. oh, you know there's nothing behind the curtain, but you just don't care.
the path is no longer dank, memorized mulch. it is now paved with shiny, yellow bricks...
and there's no turning back.
it is done.
he stares, you stare.
the serpent's hiss buzzes in your ears, louder, a divine chord progression building to an ecstatic burst.
you are almost there.
his tail twitches. your blood streams slows; expectant.
it is quick.
"hallelujah! at last!"
through your broken skin, hot poison surges electric. you arch in ecstasy, rubbered back, rapt. he slithers inside, outside, scaly strokes. the venom glitters through your veins, dancing, like tiny disco balls exploding.
already you want more.
you always want more.
it's never enough.
never enough to slaughter the chorus, to slice their voices into a blood-soaked silence.
[pieceofshitpieceofshitpieceofshit]
honey-combed slick, slathered in sticky sweet, you panic as he leisurely licks you dry. frantic as his quick flicks, you scramble to unzip this mistake, but the zipper's on the back and your hands won't reach. the fabric is itchy, you are breaking out in welts; furious flames of skin. once again, you are sewn into this sample sale; ill-fated costume.
a role you never wanted to play.
on 20mgofoxycodoneandagiantswig you get behind the wheel and drive. drive your sick husband with a broken back.
soon to be brokenhearted.
your heart? arrested. this siren screams silent, handcuffed to her hate.
no. you can't understand.
through this maze of madness you hamster round and round, lost. and not until the christmas snow gently whites, swaddling your sickness in a blanket of acceptance, can you stand still.
and listen.
[before the ax lands in jack nicholson's head.]
on christmas eve, tears dribble down your cheeks like falling stars, and you have only one wish. alone, you step into the arms of a stranger and trumpet with divine humility,
"i am henriette and i am an alcoholic."
you clutch onto the neck of someone once Eeyore'd with shame, and dare to look up and into now endless reservoirs of hope; serenity in stilled waters.
and you sigh,
"YOU are ever the green-eyed monster, not me.
for i will shed this skin again.
so dim your glittering eye,
dull your poisoned prong,
and slither away under night..."
[until tomorrow.]
