Listen along to the poem
You feel like freezing incisors,
biting the snow
on the side of the salted road.
The resulting grit scrapes
in between my metaphorical molars.
You smother me
not like a soft pillow
but a burning red-hot hand
covering my mouth and nostrils.
The other chokes my quivering throat,
searing its sensitive flesh.
I curl inwards
dead spider on the windowsill
I’m never small enough.
Never safe enough.
I want to bite and scratch,
to claw my way out.
Attempt to defend myself.
But I can’t.
Catatonia hits me like a brick
and tears drop from my soulless eyes.
The walls are heaving again, and
next to my ear, I can almost
feel your breath, as I almost
hear your sadistic laughter.