Saturday, 21 September 2013

Flight from the Fly

The devil is at my window.
Six legs latched onto glass.
His hexagonal eyes disinterested.
I freeze and wait for him to pass.

His crooked smile twists my way.
I look fearfully to the floor.
He stretches a bony finger and beckons.
A signal that I can't ignore.

It's become clear that I'm found.
I have no faith to hide.
How could I possibly use the shadows
when the darkness is his guide?

So I take a shaky step full of shame
and climb onto his sebaceous back,
feel his wings flutter against my heart aflutter,
almost praying for an attack.

But when I open my screwed-up eyes
I see that I'm falling through the air.
I'm paralised completely,
death has answered my prayer.

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