His eyes are white rolled back into his head.
His laugh is acid burning my very soul.
He speaks to me softly,
telling me who I am.
He says that I am a fly and he is the spider,
And that he is ready to plunge his fangs into my ribs,
And suck the morrow from my bones;
He is in control.

His voice is honey poured over shards of glass.
His tongue licks the inside of my brain
dirtying my mind and tarnishing my very thoughts.
His sticky fingers are rust that corrodes my pure heart.
His voice dismantles my very brain,
And cuts though my flesh and bones,
And breaks my arteries until they are flat red disks;
His goal is to make me bleed.

He in the sole voice that sleeps in my head.
He tells me he is trying to heal me
and bandage my soul with white athletic tape.
He is trying to weave his influence into my veins.
He is the little firefly that buzzes around my brain
trying to light my world with fragments of light.
What he does not know is that he is only making it darker;
He is my undoing.

He tries to lure me into his forest
so he can shelter me with his mighty branches and dry dead leaves.
He wants me to sit with him and tell him my venomous secrets.
He wants to be my friend, the ruler of my utopian world.
He tips his hat to me, and buries me in his hairy chest cloaked in maggots; hugging me.
I hug him back only because he has a gun to my head.
He has become the face of my fears;
and his bitter voice is the reason why I’m locked in this box of white in a sweaty metal jacket.