The ache, the sore feeling.
The pining, the yearning, all making me starve to my last breath,
releasing it from beaten-up lungs.
It takes a lot out of me, more than living vicariously has ever been.
Now I prowl in the dark, hoping I can hide,
protecting myself from jumping on the first unsuspecting victim I see.
Protecting them. And I would like a thank you,
keeping this lust I carry in my stomach, in my hands and feet.
It’s all a light atmosphere for them, the victims, the young whom
claim to be in the same growing state.
But they do not know the urge that passes through me, the heavy tension when I touch one’s skin; a stranger even, if you will.