He found his way inside,
gnawed on my mind and crawled my buttons.
A worm, tunneling through my brain,
leaving tiny tracks everywhere
for faster travel to millions of wires.
He drank my spinal fluid,
slurped it in with a greedy grin
until one day he'd finally had his fill:
left my back bone bent
like a Dandelion in July.
He spilled his gall
through his mouth into mine;
impregnated me with stalagmite triplets
that slowly pierced me from inside
and left deep circular holes.
The three circles grew into scars,
blended with the marks I grew
from past failures at recognizing
the beasts hiding
behind drawn magnetic curtains.
I notice how you struggle to fire up any one
of your many worn out lighters,
flicking them rapidly when you're angry
and only this release can tame you.
I've learned what they mean:
the small tics around your dimples
which appear as you smile,
while you tell me one of your cellophane lies.
I see the tremble on your dry lips,
twitches in the corners of your avoiding eyes,
when you halfheartedly bury your sadness
under cliches, or strained smooth-talking.
I watch you twirl across the floor,
the motion lifting your skirt
just above your hips
and you float serenely towards me,
soothing my mind with your emerald eyes:
radiating affirmation of o