He’s Still Looking

He looks at me and my flesh is crawling.
It feels like it's trying to escape my body,
as if it doesn't want to be it's first line of defense,
as if it had enough of trying to protect me yet again.
He looks at me and my bones are burning.
It feels like they're melting away,
trying to dis-form my body in ways I won't recognize,
in hopes he won't recognize me either.
My bones don't want to hold up this body at this moment.
This body is lucid. This body is a renegade.
This body is mine yet in this moment,
with him staring at me,
it doesn't feel like it is.
These flesh and bones I cloth myself in
have fallen victim to the mind steering them.
The mind blacked out. It couldn't think fast enough.
It couldn't answer smart enough. It couldn't speak bold enough.
It couldn't scream loud enough. It blacked out.
There is chaos in my bones, mayhem in my flesh
and silence in my mind.
He's still looking at me.
His eyes are piercing at the flesh I am cloaked in,
silently stripping me of it.
He's still looking.
And I'm still on fire.
I'm still melting.
I'm still silent.
And he's still looking.

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