Do you know what it’s like,

to be the hunted?

The pursued;

the object, the target,

the one stalked like wounded prey

as the lights turn off.


You never called off your

hunting parade.

You took advantage of your skill.

You moved on me;

a soundless shadow creeping

along the walls,

clutching fear and regret in your hands

as weapons to

take

me

down.


Brutal, savage beast you are;

only I can see those jagged teeth,

razor spikes contouring your spine,

as you grab me from behind.

The darkness colours you,

brings out more than daylight ever could.

It suits you, you and the coal and soot

you shed

in my bed.

Warm, sticky blood you open like a tap.

You rip and tear and

reap your rewards

after such a masterful ****.


You left me wounded, dripping blood

like a grimy trail behind me.

Leaving me more vulnerable to

fresh attack

than ever before.

But there was something worse still;

more terrifying than any shot from your gun.


You left more than a scar, more than

a raw wound.

You left something behind that can’t be healed.

It becomes part of my being,

inserting itself into my body,

protruding it’s toxic spikes into

any future I have;

any future that might involve a lover,

any chance at companionship.


You battered me to a ****** pulp;

a ragged mess no one could ever

risk touching,

without the blood covering themselves too.

It would seep into the sheets between us lovers;

it would attack me quietly, viciously;

It would bring out the worst in me,

and every time I would be forced to save him.

Save him from myself.


Look at what you did to me,

foul, disgusting ghost you now are.

You’re the nightmare I hide.

You’re the burn on my skin I keep in the dark.

You’re the voice I try and drown in rapid

loves, fleeting desires.

You’re my brand. You’re the one who

decides my fate from now on.

You pillaged without consent.

You never even knew what you delivered

or what

you

stole.


The hunted.

That is what I am now.

The weak creature, struggling to

heal.

And I can never tell lovers what this

sad, lonely,

aching story means.

What I can offer gets buried in fear.

I can never voice the pain that

rips in waves,

icy and sickly

in my bloodstream.

I can’t voice the remorse,

or the loneliness I shall always greet,

before they flee,

the sound of receding footsteps they beat.

What is it, that you could want from me,

my friend?

We walk along as shape-shifters;

Flickering, ephemeral forms.

Starting a labyrinth from opposite ends,

we hope to meet at the heart.

The strategy you follow and the actions I take

will never agree though.

I know you will keep left,

and I will circle endless maps,

waiting for you to find me.

Because that is what you do;

you find me.

I need your shelter, when I’m drowning in thorns,

spiny hedges, out of shape;

twisting and curling their brambles around me.


What is it, that you could want from me,

sweet lover?

Moth to flame;

shadows to the light;

a starving creature to the scent of fresh blood;

you gaze and crave and advance,

lost in heat.

I simply lean and wait to find you wanting.

Wanting the same crazed thing every other

man wants from me.

You are of the same mould;

burn the same;

hurt me the same;

excite me the same. But that is not an invitation.

I welcome the thrill;

but I also shiver at the chill you let in as you enter;

leaving the door open to a blizzard.


What is it, that you could want from me,

lovely admirer?

I struggle to cover up my holes and gaping wounds before

you eye me.

You like my insecurity;

you feed off my uncertainty.

You can sway me like no other.

Because you have seen those weak spots under

my skin and feathers.

And you show me you like them.

You warm the air around me,

everything shimmers and is soft to the touch.

I’m safe moving into your arms until

you show me truly what you are.

Scaly, coiled as a spring, rough,

grazing and cutting my skin.

You’re a snake that charmed me into

harm.

Stop admiring me, It’s worth so little

I could be better without it.


What is it, that you could yearn for in my presence,

my love?

Long, slow days wrapped in each other.

Excitement buries itself into expectation. Into routine.

I know you’re there when I call.

I know you sense my tears building,

before I do.

I know you already understand the words yet

to tumble from my mouth;

dirtying the floor and reeking of loss.

Why yearn, when you already have been given what

you need?

Why moan and cry at my feet, hurting, when you’ve already taken

what you need?

It’s only need. It’s not desire, or dreams.

It’s physical, real, and I’m the lost one thinking it was different.

Maybe, one day my love, I’ll be the one to yearn instead.

Loud enough that it will shudder and surge through your skin.

Enough that you can give back to me.


What is it, truly, that you want?

You are wanted again,

pined for in dark places.

You are wanted.

Flashing lights,

I’m in dire need of your touch.


You are wanted, teased and played for a fool;

You let them take your favours from you,

riding the rollercoaster at the carnival, over and over

again until you feel sick

to your

soul.


Sweet after sweet unravelled from the wrapper,

you are swayed into the night,

stolen away by their clever, cunning calls.

Secret sojourns in the dead hours,

clasping what little dignity you have around your bare form,

you follow the scent of temptation,

in all of its wildest forms.

You are wanted.

You leave them spellbound in your wake,

demons tickling your skin,

begging as they rock you in their arms.


Tangled limbs, heat and salt,

they crave you with the lights turned off.

You can feel the frenzied brush of skin before,

you even arrive at your

destination.

You take their calls and respond to their

distress, feeling a false power,

a slow drag of your pulse,

a maddening pull towards their open doors.


You are needed.

Perfumed; scented like innocent summer flowers,

you dress and quicken to their magnetic pull.

You find your way to their arms as deftly as if you’ve been before.

All the while your head and heart

thrum,

tick tick,

cogs churning over how bottomless you must be

to look for worth in the physical attraction

of a stranger’s

craving.


You are an addiction. A drug,

the ***** they desperately wish to consume, ravenous and

wide-eyed.

They know you need them too.

They know you are devoted to

soothing their souls,

healing their scars,

filling their desires as they drink all of you in,

a long sweep as their eyes linger at all the right spots.

They know you are devoted, submissive and persuaded,

growing like flowers to the sunlight,

because of the awakening they feed you.

Long dormant, you gather prowess, confidence,

strictly a tease until you bathe in their pleasure of you.


A light flares behind your eyes.

You are wanted.

The sensual hush as you both obey each other in turn;

Do you need me there, or here;

What do you like most?

You both trace and ***** for the task at hand,

locked together, mouths lost in each other.


You were wanted.

After the flames have burnt low, you lie awake

feeling the storm rage inside.

Why did you need to do this?

What was the point at being the forbidden sweet;

the object of someone so beyond reach?

Their eyes will forget your shape,

forget the games you played,

until they remember you,

born out of their loneliness.

Just as you leave feeling the scald of yours.


You were once wanted.

But now you crawl into bed alongside your insecurity.

You adjust the pillow to find pity nestled beneath the sheets.

Can you love yourself? If those men you please can’t really love you?

You can reach for them as they drift further back, but don’t

expect them to hold you as you sleep.

Don’t expect anything more than a cruel jab as they

tease you like a child.

Lull yourself to sleep, rest your body,

and freeze your heart in place.

Preserve as much as you can,

before it blows away on the morning air.

Let your arms hold you,

let them warm you

as you recover what is missing.