The Act of Giving In and Other Painful Games

I’m restless tonight and I’m not sure why.

My skin practically crawls with it and still I lay here.

My mind won’t shut down as it makes images form shadows

All the while playing scene after scene of banal circumstance

Enough to make me want to scream or cry

And still I lay here.

Would it make more sense were I to be frozen by fear,

jumping at every sound,

cowering beneath my covers as I awaited my fate?

At least then I might have reason instead of the antipathy that plagues me,

that fills me with disgust for myself.

Yet still I am restless

at least beneath my skin

where throngs of spiders converge in a mad dance to drive me over the edge.

And still I lay here

Awaiting his approach

Knowing that he will visit,

yet again.

My body his playground,

my soul his toy,

my strength lost and useless.

And still I lay here.

A metallic chain with an explosed link.