He's Frightening, I Think

February 3, 2010
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He's frightening, I think,
as I meet his steady, unwavering gaze.
His eyes are dark, burning with
an internal fire so bright-
Hades would be proud.
His expression is calm, so very calm,
but his hands-those long, slim appendages,
so destructive, destructive.
And I hate him, I know,
as his smile curves with a tainted,
sinful blood lust. I hate his laugh,
desceptive, and false. I hate
his voice, spinning half-truths
that may as well be lies.
But most of all, I hate the fact
that no matter how hard I try
I can never escape him.
He reaches out, with those pale,
pale fingers. His gaze is a menace
covered by an assuring mask.
His hands, to touch my face, reach-
out, out, out...and brush glass.
My hand jerks back and tucks to my side.
We stare at each other in silence.
Yes, he's frightening, I think,
and turn away from the mirror.

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