I see the inner workings of his mind-
mind you that that behind the tic toc tinkers in the back of his irises
lay somewhere up and to the left,
the layout of his segmented conscience.
Consequently on the debut of my voyeuristic voyage it stalls,
stops,
begins to separ-ate
as the physical manifestation of his demons commence to consume it.
Consumption by his less-than-better half renders me awkward and apprehensive,
but allows me access into his thoughts.
His thoughts
are littered with photocopies negatives drawings of children that hang in mid-
air as if tethered to the ceiling by invisible strings at different elevations
Lonely,
I think as I watch the quires of paper linger
With no movement, I feel almost sad and sickly staring at the absence of life.
Quickly,
quietly I pivot turning back to the faulty pillars of his machinery
wanting to fly back into my seat, to become one with my body.
I see it,
my person, through his tainted rose-colored glasses
as he slides his hands from my knee to the seraphic softness between my thighs.
My expression is vacant
void of vehemence.
I want to shout, scream, scold him
I cry out,
“Get away from me!”
But my voice just echoes inside this man’s frontal lobe.
I pace back and forth between his left and right eye and stop
as I see him grope my prepubescent breast and cover my small wholesome lips with his
I hear his baritone voice, in that reassuring tone,
whispering how I am his sweetest child
I turn away from this nauseous scene and wait.
I crawl back into my body just as he begins to leave.
At that second,
bile erupts from my mouth and leaves a pool of poison,
Almost instinctly my body bends into the fetal position.
Covered in compound secretions
I cower, find fault in myself
and cry tears of a coward
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