He stares at me
singeing the hairs
on the nape of my neck
with eyes that hatred born
rotted smile
of perfect teeth
a well-cut suit
custom no doubt
wears him like a whore
hiding skeletal limbs
whose flesh has felt
more than one lost stray
I feel a phantom hand
as it grabs my chest
determined to find
what lies beneath
hoping to break it
and end me
he acts as if
he’s the one in control
but it’s only an illusion
for I may act frightened
but he’s the one who’s terrified
we could continue
to play this game
but he is taking too long
and I have grown bored
so, I let him believe
for a little while longer
until it’s too late
and he sees the truth
reflected in my eyes
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