Lullaby
It starts with a hand brushing my bangs back. A hand that comes back again. And again, stroking my cheek. A cold hand that slips down my face. Down my neck. To my chest, where stinging fingers trace my muscles. Fingers brush up to the dips of my clavicle. Drift sideways because they're not satisfied. Frigid fingers that slide the loose cloth of my shoulders. Then behind me. Fingertips brushing the muscles along my spine. Then palms pressing. Then hands groping. And then arms snake around my torso. Pull me back. An open mouth between my shoulder and neck. Where it's been once before. No teeth this time. Not yet. Release. Then in front again. Push on my shoulders. Cloth against my ankles. Hands run up. From stomach to face. Fingers tangle in my hair. Mouth to lips. Mouth to mouth. I'm laying now. Frozen. One hand gets loose. I force my mind to go numb. Try to ignore. Involuntary spasms. Moans for breath. Sweating from heat. I don't feel. Only cold. Try to ignore. Back arching. Shivers. Travel from nips and pecks to my stomach. Tense my muscles. Chill won't vanish. Keep my body limp. Mind won't shut down. Fingertips on my jaw. On my neck. Through my hair. Down my chest. Across my ribs. Along my thighs. Everywhere. And I think, I must be the only one. The only corpse who's still alive. As he plays with his new body. As he rapes my soul. I wonder at someone who would do this with himself. And at someone who would die before his death.