And I See

The bungler—the breath–taking–bruised up boy balancing the facade and the empathroes behind to be beaten by the succubus and intrigued in the interim as an incubus, beholding breaking hands once thought of Olympian marble, now revealing their irrelevance under a mortal sun, and an abhorrent resurgence for the inevitable mise en scene…here—on the crapper, the cunt-cognoscente, polyglot-glutton of mistakenly radical rhetoric, semantic semen seether seer of the throbbing orifice of the oracle forgotten…eyelids flickering in hyper speed blur, eyeballs rolling into the back of my bruising brain—the pathetic prophet panting of old age and petty prurience…and I see…

 

…and I see…

 

…and I see..

 

..and as I come to be…I see a baby black widow staring back at me. There, in the corners of my restroom—in between the tub and wall…a tiny black period at the end of this sentence…then slowly at its own good time, spreads out its limbs, stretching and warning me.

 

I read arachnid, can not speak it very well. I hear its unmistakable message to me:

One day, I will come for you. Not because of karma, not because you’re bad, not because you crushed my family—like the family you never had…but because it’s what I do.

 

And you won’t crush me now, to be safe in slumber. No…you allow me time, growth and strength, that I, one day, may come for you…It’s what you do.

 

And I see you grunting at the toilet…

 

…and I see..

…and I see…

 

…and I see…

 

∞