I'm not scared of It anymore.
It is not a mythical beast sent to conquer.
Don't get too close. It might be the end of you.
You are too close to It's risk. A sad statistic.
You are just like them. It will snatch you soon. He whispers this our one last time.
His familiar heaviness makes It real. The forbidden rhythm numbs the pain.
The only tears I cry are as his life drips with sticky shame.
Just like that. They are gone. It pulled them under. Freshly gone; we are left.
Like daggers he speaks. I have you all. To myself. Just like we always wanted.
Together; until It soils you too.
How might you do It?
Different than they.
Take my belt. And when you do It. Feel my final hands remove the life that only I could give.
I still have the belt. Well worn. A staple of my life.
The gatekeeper of his piercing.
The weapon fashioned making skin so raw.
Crammed away I hear It taunt. It teases with It's destiny.
I remain after him but his hold lives on in leather form.
Too afraid to touch It. His belt is my own It. The last connection.
My pieces. Myself. We beg to throw It away.
That belt. It. His final grip.
I can only hope that courage wins to turn It over. To will It gone. Forever.
Until It is just a distant, formless it.
It’s Pouring . . . . . . .
19 hours ago