It fills my mouth thick
And slides its crooked fingers down my throat
To make me sick
Trickles over my lips
And drips off my chin to slime its way around my neck
Its thumbs press softly
On my breathing tube.
Did its grip tighten? The air is short
And viscous now
It binds me to the table
Imprinting the rope into the paper skin on my wrists
Pulled ‘til I cannot fight.
It retreats now, leaving me
Scared and naked and breathless.
Trust is love’s cruellest game.
I know I haven’t posted any poetry in a while, everything I have written recently has been too personal for the cold light of the internet! This, however, is suitably vague and therefore perfect for this space. Enjoy.