he tells me I'm a pretty painting and that he'd love to meet the artist I tell him my blood sweat and tears caused all of this "pretty" he laughs and shakes his head hand rising to touch a "no" croaks from my throat "you can't touch museum art" he gives me a look of determination and says "what if the art is no longer the museum's?" his hands reach up and he tears me from my safe, safe wall and steals me he strokes each delicate curve with a rough, shaking hand a hand shaking with lust
he tells me I'm a beautiful bird and that he'd love to acquire a feather I tell him my feathers help me fly from "monsters" he sighs and shakes his head hand already catching my throat a "no" squeaks from my chest "birds were meant for freedom" he gives me a look of exasperation and says "but what if the bird is put in a cage?" his hands clasp me and he rips me from my safe, safe perch and steals me he plucks each delicate feather with a rough, shaking hand a hand that shakes with need
he tells me I'm an intricate book and that he'd love to meet the author I tell him I am the author and I wrote each word with pain and misery and if he desires to read it he must gain a "key" he cackles and shakes his head hands already tracing my barriers and what lies beneath them my mouth forms the word "no" and my tongue spits it out from the fire in my stomach he tuts and shakes his head a look of unwithering victory and says "what if the book's covers are simply torn off?" his hands reach up and he strips off my safe, safe barriers he runs his shaking fingers over every word and punctuation mark fingers that shake with lust he skims his burning eyes over every letter and accent eyes that burn with need and once his satisfaction is filled he leaves me with nothing but paper but I must thank the man for he left me *a pen