Hemlock Febrility

Baby, I can't tell for sure the reason why I am the way I am. Its kind of like being in a darkened room and seeing a closed and locked door across the way with light creeping out from under the bottom -- what's really going on in there? Touch is a dressing to my wounds, a purred lullaby that collapses the Jericho Wall of my mind and skin is like a muslin veil that catches all my curdled badness and allows the delicate to seep out. The slow-steady rise-fall gives way to a warm that melts the rime and leaves exposed the gaping holes in my ... finished.

Now write me something nice in your pre-dawn post-coital hours and remind me that I am worth something because we all need reminding sometimes.

I just needed you to notice.