shapeless and invisible, i can feel you inside me. stirring, i feel you move me – kicking in my stomach, sticking in my throat and heavy in my chest. i know you are awake… again.
ancient and certain, but without innocence. a now adulterous motive, that once was pure, overwhelms. and you are strong. stronger than me. i cannot fight you.
pervasive and relentless, i know you are there. i feel you growing inside me – gnawing, twisting. you will not be abated, or sated. you heighten my senses and keep me awake at night – feeding my dreams, imparting upon me with a voracious appetite to match my own. you consume me. my thoughts. my thoughts.
sometimes gentle, you seep into my thoughts like the slow, inevitable, stain of red wine on white linen.
sometimes you rape my concentration, violently twisting; clawing for my attention, as you drive harder and deeper into me. and i like it.
but you won’t let me be. i hear you moving furniture inside my head – rearranging my thoughts and dreams, churning through my memories. you are dangerous. you tattoo my better judgement with words and glances and beautiful irrational moves and images that distract me. taunt me. haunt me for hours.
you arouse me.
powerful and completely disarming, you know how to play me. you prey on my imagination and wittingly litter my head with notions and desires. yes, you are dangerous. beautiful, but dangerous.
you are a monster. electric. and…
i awake to find you looming over me – mocking me – cruelly snatching my moments of clarity and shearing what little fibres of self control i have left inside me. you perverse my dreams – alluding me to a seeming reality of wild abandonment and submission. deeper into this seeming reality you lure me and i never want to leave that beautiful place. dreams from which i never want to awaken. but…
you torture me. you steal this world from me – leaving me helpless, exhausted and frustrated. you never finish what you start. so…
and yet you continue to besiege me with daydreams, recent, and replay home movies of all too brief encounters. you fill me with music – songs from before, but i hear them for the first time with visions. visions that make my head spin. dizzy dancing. visions that taste of wine, and the succulence of forbidden fruit.
you are a master of ambiguity. a paradox. controlling and persuasive, you inflame my hands; my fingers – they hunger for skin, naked; my lips – they burn and taste of your spit; my thighs – they ache from clenching and my best endeavours to control this beast…this longing. in your wake, all there is, is a chronic ache that will not abate. there is no calm. no peace or contentment. only recklessness. only a restless itch. a craving. a constant narcotic craving…
cannibalistic. you eat your way out from the inside. a voyeur, i am too weak to fight you. beside myself, i watch you… i watch as you… you… you manipulate and masturbate my weakness. you are loud. screaming to me. i cannot close my eyes and ears to your intoxicating presence. and i don’t want to.
lost, in the middle of the afternoon, i find myself on coffee tables, in dark alleyways, in stark hotel rooms, on leather chairs and in tangled bed sheets. lost, in places i recognise and places yet to be.
all i have left is this duality, this perplexity; this… my complexity.
and it is complex. you wont let me be. every breath i inhale now reeks of anticipation and the urgency of depraved sex. every breath i exhale, of elusive chance and missed opportunity.
are you awake? i know that you are…. again. it’s all too familiar.
you sexualise me, like before. it’s all too familiar.
you are fucking with my head. but please…
don’t stop there.
(c) Kat McDonald, 2010