The young are foolish and blind.
Pretending each figure looming over us is Jesus or Barack Obama
Whispering sweet infinities down our necks and into our ears.
"I want you. I want you. I want your body. I want you."
Everyone looks the same in the dark?
But the comfort of a panic attack suffocating you in silence doesn't happen with him.
So explain why, when satan throws me down, I'm supposed to pretend to want it.