I wasn’t even tripping and it happened again. Paroxysms. That grip on my arms, demanding. Pinned and forced to scream.
To see it, feel it. Let it pass through.
The press of her love like a boot to my throat.
The darkness listened like the light loved. A heavy press.
A reminder of power and care.
Now I am weary. Exhausted by the effort of self-suspension.