Today I run from the demons
that chase down halls, lead into other tempting
jaws, littered with lost teeth and dripping yellow
mucous membranes that prepare the monster for the
crunch of bone on sliced tongues
but a hand grasps mine, wrenched from
the snap that would have belonged to me,
takes me through a door of swollen wood,
fractured by a slam,
practiced claws grip the knob
that the hand seals shut but still
caresses mine even when I wake
alone.
And they don't know who you are
but I do.
You and I we are not the same--
But I wonder why
you never keep your promises