We are all dead
or we are all alive
We live in the grey
but there is no dividing line
Brown or pink
Black or white
Shades and shadows dividing
by what you think they think
  about why you are
  when what you are
            is living
In dying for difference
            we are lost
In thinking too much
and in not living enough

Doll eyes, he says
You have doll eyes

Of course.

Glassy, blind doll eyes
waiting for any random child to squeeze me to life

Bring me reaction.

My pupils hold tiny negatives of him.
He checks them for impairment.

Sitting side-by-side on a damp porch step
he tells me the story of the spiders

plunging mouth fangs into live, bound captives
melting and digesting their insides
leaving an empty shell
Brittle, used and dead.

Intact from the outside