I am perplexed  
by everything that is happening.
I am afraid
of what tomorrow brings.
They say that
tomorrow’s promises are sweet.
But I am sure to be lost
without You to guide me.
I am in quandary
over things I have no control with.
I am in jeopardy
in deciding what to do.
Should I continue?
Or forge a new path?

A chrysalis hangs precariously on this ledge between us. Spun with our delicate emotions, hardened by our greatest horrors. Slowly unwinding from its tight form. The loose end. Tugged by the people surrounding us, bitten and chewed upon by the situation we are in. This feeling; inexplicable, disastrous. We are shadowed by our ignorance and indifference.

     The life within that chrysalis, an innocent in a world full of blood and gore. Still developing, sensing the poisonous intentions of its fellow species. Hesitating, delaying its arrival. A victim in a vicious world.

     Its outermost covering gone now. Protective layer or not. It fights. It hangs on the last thread of hope; hope that would soon prove futile.

This maelstrom is ******* me in. No chance of rescue. No second life. I am torn between wanting to fight and needing to let go. I can feel your phantom fingers hefting me upward, toward the blinding light. Then, I am yanked down to the sweet abyss of unfeeling. Both promise of everlasting silence; one that can never be broken by humans. I am cleaved in two; these forces wage war over my limp body.

     It's nice to know that something would fight for you even though humanity has given up hope. I should let go, be one with the supernatural.  But which should I choose? I really need to let - NO! I don't want to be fought over by forces I can't even begin to imagine. I still want solid hands to touch me. I want the natural warmth that a body emits. I want to feel sturdy bones beneath my fingers and physical contact with the owners of these phantom fingers.
    
     I won't let anyone decide for me. I won't die without a fight. I'll claw and scrape at everything for my survival. I'll even clip you in the head should you have ill intentions. No, I will fight till my end. And maybe, just maybe, I'll die with a smirk on my face and with fingertips hiding scraped flesh and blood beneath.

I was drawn apart from the rest. Segregated and in isolation. I talk to myself. Tell myself all my dreams and aspirations. Relate my dreams and horrors within my confinement. The walls reverberate with my voice. The shadows scream in agony when I start telling tales to regale myself. The mice scurry past my ankles. I don't care at all. Voices travel within my cell, bringing with it stories from the outside; where the sun touches a person's skin and where the wind is considered a friend.

I am a flea gorged on your blood.
       A pest you could never get rid of.
I am a constant itch on your body,
       one that never goes away.
I am a craving that could
       never be satisfied.
I want to be
       the salutation in your love letter.
I need to be a problem
       you can’t solve.
I desire for you to see me.
      With holes in my body and cracks in my interior.
I hope you’ll reach for me
       with your fingers spread.
I fancy your lips on my forehead
       tonight.

You are a madman.* And I am drunk on your attention. I slither and glide towards you. Crawling beneath your still form,. Desperate for the heat that your body openly offers.

     You are a gladiator. And I a spectator in your quest for entertainment. I move to the rhythm of the lasso. I flinch and cry out. Bits of flesh tear from my skin. Small rivers of blood converge and flow.

     You are the dictator. And I am your slave. I'm here to please you. Serve you with all I am. I give my body. Unhitch my soul.

          *I am yours but you'll never be mine.