He distracts me
His hands could be clocks
Ticking away hours
Is this what I want?
Is this what I dream?
What do I dream?
I'm afraid of that, the shadows of my wants.
That hover like the children I've killed in the corner of my vision.
I feel them breathing on me.
I don't look but let the fuzzy shapes hover there
Never taking substance.
The greater more that's supposed to drive us.
Then there is him.
And I feel pain in the pleasure.
A horror in the want
That something bad is about to happen . . .
Oh, fuck it.
. . . Why not?