.... size... hollow... redefined.... no. re-emitted.
hungry growl in ravenous dryland
thumping against the thin film of water
.... not my reflection. the ripples of this liquid prison
....the only thing keeping him at bay.
he laughs at this predicament
he knows my thoughts-- my feelings--- nay, my very troubles
he tries to stick his hand through from underneath the water
he succeeds, and with it brings whispers to my ears
not fear... not tranquility.... but understanding...
the kind of understanding you get from your enemy wanting to get up close to you
His eyes surround my every move
He wants me to swim, or drink all the water
He wants me to pass out and spread open my legs
if not... then unwillingly
But no. hypnosis unreasoned.
dreams speak not. they come no more
this is all in my head
a cruel reality to what all who live consider life
but it is the dead that speak to my soul...
and it takes every ounce mustered to ignore them...
it takes my will to make them disappear...
and they seemingly feed upon that will, making it dissipate in their hatred and their intriguing malice and sadistic heritage.
I won't open my legs to them so that my enemy can rape me
They'll kill me before I let them in.
