Tendrils that lick my skin
Tearing into me,
Pulling me apart bit by bit,
Leaving nothing
But tender pink flesh in its wake.

The horrid sounds I hear
I find are my own.
Ripped from my throat
so vehemently,
so vivaciously.

Soon consciousness ebbs
away from me.
Numbed beyond anything,
A feeling beyond anything,
Both detested and welcome,
despised and loved.

The twisted screams and cries
are my final swan song.
My flesh crumbles away
Becoming blissfully nothing,
Regrettably something.

Nothing but ash.
I think to myself.
Nothing but ash.
I scream to myself.
Nothing but ash.
I whisper to myself.
Nothing but ash,
Nothing but ash,
And then there is only smoke.

The lights turn down,
Your touch burns my skin,
Bruises my shoulders.
My lip tastes of copper
from your passionate kiss,
your teeth sinking in mercilessly.
Roughly, gently,
You remind me I am yours,
And command me to say it.
My eyes half shut,
My breath coming in loud gasps.
That is your answer,
And your wicked smile
Only makes me want you more.

So vividly my mind's eye remembers.
I gaze into the darkness behind my lids
And see the shadows take your form.

First your young face.
Round cheeks, short dark hair.
Eyes black as coals.
Eyes haunted by what you knew
And what you carried alone
With a neck
That could barely support your head.

Then your torso,
The outline of every rib
Stretching the taut skin of your chest.
Your frail thin arms
And tiny bony hands.

Lastly your legs,
The first to go
And the last that appear.
Knobby knees,
Contorted tendons,
Curved feet.

And just as your mouth begins to move,
Your eyes shining with mirth,
Your feeble hands open before you,
A laughter rings through the air.
I run to you
momentarily forgetting
And brutally reminded
As I grab you in my arms
Only for you to disappear.

Salty tears burn my eyes,
A cry of despair pierces the silence,
I wretch onto the floor.
It's been eight years
And it hits me all the same.
I close my eyes again
Willing you away
Trying to forget
But I can't.