When people speak of love, they speak of it as if it is not the wolf

underneath the bed -- the nights greying dawn holds naught against

the candle of obsession,

it flickers in its presence which consumes all thought and rationale.

The waltz I follow to avoid feeling its sharp pelt beneath my hands

where lampposts flicker at my steps - they burn out at yours.

The fireworks of lightning that hold the sky and your red dripping from above,

cascade to this solid ground - I'm unable to look at my hands

for fear they will reach to touch you. The window we've diverged on

obscures me from vision, to where I am but a voice without human reason.

Do you continue looking for a monster in others when I am

beneath the same light as you? This headache of mine

will not go until your coldness soothes this empty house.

Do you trust me to stay by your side like a dog, one that will not leave

until kicked into the street? Will you take the knife

and gut the deer that stalks its hunter? My chest burns at the mention of you

just as a heart set fire from inside, I feel the fangs sink deeper into

minds flesh -- gripped until torn and frayed and fear exists nevermore.

The feeling will destroy me whole - the sun will come down

and you will be asleep as I stay underneath the mirror, where alighting

passions were once cherished. How so calm the moon remains,

the horrible fur has wrapped me so completely, betraying myself beneath your bed.