time ticks within my chest.
an empty cupboard which creaks in the presence of light,
tweaks in the glowering heat
and leaks in the midst of wintry warmth.

without much thought,
the future slithers itself around me,
a cunning fox as he-

"freeze"

he says

gurgling in his own quirks as he manhandled me.
"don't move, don't move, move- don't move."

with the lightest h-two-o,
i shook in terror and horror.
how could it be- no. he couldn't have;

all which connects me back to myself is a white thread.
now rust
and flakes

this pen under my wing writes it's own story
and in this story the future stops me
"don't move, don't move- MOVE IT."

it's time to give up this night sky;
hello to myself...
who i no longer am.

- poem by beautifulove 2014