You look at me,
the desire I thought I wanted to be.
Bowed down in a glass bedroom.
My empty gaze.
Your side of beef.
fangs hiding in your smiling lies.
“Screw you, too” is what you want to do.
I’m a thing.
It’s a bitch, isn’t it,
my insignificance confronting arrogance?
That’s the place I’m escaping from.
Running in circles.
Within my darkness.
©November 2014, Christina Anne Hawthorne