Glow

They’re lying, probably;

Fur isn’t really that blue, and what you’re hearing are—

although this could be a lie too—black

valleys, green arches, fused to mimic

the shrieks you love so much.

Why seek what you could palm in an instant?

For a while, there is no us, only

saturation and long-lashed funhouse mirrors. I

get to forget I’m running, to

watch sparks fly when steel clashes with pixelated

flesh. You get your validation.

We can’t help ourselves, can we? It comes

easier than pulling the muscles in our

faces, hardening like bug-shell, turning

bold, and outlined, and hollow.

Sick. I feel

sick. God’s name starts with

a catechol structure now; a

benzene ring and two

hydroxyl side groups. Someone

must have fed it their

young. My arm stretches like grape taffy for

the groove in my bed;

Tantalus reached less ravenously.

But I never stopped running.

The black alley I got lost in wasn’t a shortcut.

The shame rolls back

Over me;

And you only make noises when you think

others are listening, because it’s better to

hear their eyes roll down the hill than

to be with yourself. When

their gazes leave—back up the alley we go.