by Shaun Terry
My skin — a melted, bubbling, radioactive sheath —
pulses to the rhythm of my fearful, unfocused heart.
Reptiles and serpents,
with opaque eyes, souls, and scales,
permeate the sheath
between disjointed pulsings of my heart.
They enter the same way
she slipped through my walls that night,
cloaked in something wicked,
robbing me of options,
robbing me of dignity.
We stood in the cold,
and she heard my words
but didn’t listen.
And she kept blowing little clouds at me.
They’d vanish in the cold night air,
just as soon as they’d appear.