Exsanguis

Blood.

Crystallite droplets of an opaque auburn that disperse themselves everywhere with rapidity.

Claws follow in a rabid succession. Covered in the pigment of the viscous liquid, insinuating itself onto the skin as an indelible film, a mark of sin commited and act of doom like the burnt mark on a thief. Some of it splashed on me, sears me face and body with the same brand.

Dirt.

It rises when the body falls. Icor, fluids, mingle with the mangled wounds of victims. Die evil and good alike. Dust, like parasite, engulfs and poisons reptilian armor as fangs of giants. The dirt on the soul shivers and as it quickens its devourment of purity. I assist and take part in the massacre. My soul has drenched the ink of murder.

Meat.

Devided like a flock in flight attacked be a hawk. A precise animal that slices flech like a carving knife. The steel coldness, reflection of ligt without absorbtion. Separation of particles that bring about rapid blackness. Total absorbtion of light.

Fear and Pain.

Like a poisonous ivy cling up me and encircle me like malevolent planets. Travelling through the body in blasts of chemicals and down the skin in rivets of sodden sweat.

Awareness

The conscience of surroundings, of colour, of texture, of pureness and evil, of pain, of feeling, of hearing, of all that is around us, outside us, inside us.

Love.

The contradictory feeling that is out of place. The overwhelming sensation that invades my body, stronger than the pain, stronger that the fear, greater than conscious, immensely captivating, especially when I see the red on the claws.

Claws.

Could tear me apart, shred me, dip in me, as they tried to once. Could stain themselves in my very own red. But they don't. They tear who tries to tear me now. They spread the blood and flesh for me. So the blood splashes across my face, but I don't flinch. I love the flesh tearing, the conscious screaming, the senses whispering , the pain pounding the fear gnawing. I love the one causing them, so I love them.

Red.

Red bloody Claws become amber.

Amber.

Amber, pure gold mirrors, become white.

White threads of silver reflect beauty, light. Reflection.

White becomes black.

Black becomes split across the middle.

I open my eyes and rise from yet another disturbed dream. The grass whistles the tune the wind thought it. The kitsune at me feet wiggles in response to my shift in heart beat and scent. I had once again been dreaming of him. Of conscious, of colour, of blood, of claws, of flesh, of love.

Of flesh against flesh.

My breathing finally levels, but he is there. Up there. On a branch where I cannot reach him, but where he can see me all the time. Where he can smell me. He knows my smells And he knows this smell I have now. Once a month, I dream, I smell.

Once a month, after I dream, he won't come close to me.

Only he knows. Only I know. I know half of what he does. I know my thoughts. He knows his thoughts. My smells too. So he know boths' thoughts. He shall act, or none shall but a third party I don't want.

________________________________________


Smell.

What this is making me think makes no sense. She's down there, she's calming, but she isn't. She's still smelling.

Heartbeat.

The blood is all over me. She's tempting. She's mine. No, she's not mine. But if I was mine I would hate me.

No.

I'm happy not to mine. This. This smell. Her. She's sitting up. I can see her. I can always see her. Tonight I cannot not see her tonight.

Welcome nightmare.

Torture is welcome to me even in my wakefulness. She's sitting still. She's looking up. At the moon. Not at me. Gods, she smell. I stay awake every night watching her. Coveting. I'm not mine. Yet.

Light.

Her hair looks as white as mine. The moon's on it. In it. Like mine. Mine. Tonight she sighed, she moaned, she writhed. No, I am not mine, but she smells. Tomorrow she will smell too. Tomorrow night I'll watch her tangle in her dreams again.

Whispers.

My ears hear. What others could never. She whispers. While she turns for her dreams, she whispers his name. Lover. The name of her lover. In the dream. My name. A hiss, a whisp, a sigh. An intake of breath that ended in a syllable.

Wish.

I wish I could go. In there. I want to see what she wants me to do. Do to her. She's standing. Long white legs. Slender arms. What do I do to them. Black hair. What do I do to it? The way she walks. Different from other days. Slower. Neater. Precise and cut. A predator's walk. Gods, she smells.

Prey.

I would like to be. I'm not mine. Why does she walk? Why does she tempt me? Doesn't she know what her body says to me?

She smells stronger

It's all I can do to control my blood.

Blood.

Rising on temptation.

Instinct.

I must control. She does not want. Does not know. Her dreams speak. Her smells call me. She doesn't. I'm not mine. But she smells. Why am I alive! Why is she with me! Why must her mind hate what her body craves? No- her mind doesn't hate.

Tell-tale.

Dreams come from the mind. Now her mind in there. Her mind moved her mouth. She whispered. Only to me.

I call her.

She turns.

She smells.

I cannot give in to what I want. Weak tired. She talks to me softly. She smells. Her voice invites. She tells me to go down. I cannot. I will not. I'll remain on the tree. I shall not.

Grass.

Around my feet. Weak. Tired. Walking is difficult. I sit. She walks. That walk. Sits beside me. She smells more calling. I hide myself. She asks why I moves and comes closer. Touches my shoulder.

Her dreams call my name.

Her smells talk to me.

Her walk invites me.

Her voice seduces me.

I tell her to do away. She's hurt. I growl at her that I'll hurt her, she mumbles and hits me.

Just on my shoulder.

Softly, gently but roughly. Hits me. Touches me. I cannot look at her! I'm looking at her.

Her face.

Her eyes, mouth, nose. Perfection. Her hair a finishing touch. Black. But the moon makes it white. Like mine. Mine. I'm not mine.

She moves.

Closer to me.

I cannot stop.

She smells so badly. Smells of need. For me. Only for me. Whispers for me. Writhes and turns for me. Lover. Me. Her lover.

My hands are out.

She cries out.

She's on her back.

I'm on her.

She stops moving. She starts moving. Rubbing. Different movement. Not escaping, not crying. Slow movement. Soft. Her clothes are those she wears at night. A dress. Short.

She's not screaming.

She's not escaping.

Yet I'm on her.

I bite her- and she moans.

I cannot control. Her hands are one me. Her neck is mine, her mouth is mine. Button. She calls them buttons. I push them in. The dress seems cut in half. I never tore it. She moans. Invitation. Prayer.

Her chest is mine.

Her breasts are mine.

She gives them to me. Prayer. Moan. Supplication. Blood in my veins. Makes me deaf. Blind. Smells. Dizyness. Moans.

I cannot stop.

Mine

I make her mine.

Now she screams.

Now it is late.

She asked me. She begged me. Instinct. Perdition. Pleasure.

Screaming.

Her screams, to me they mean her pain?

But I feel pleasure?

Her smell, o, her smells.

Around me, above me, inside.

Her taste- of sweat and sweet water.

Her touch.

Her warmth. All around me. Her strength, her warmth. All around, all around. Depth.

Warmth, depth. Strength.

Screams.

I cover her mouth. She could attract to her. Us. She cannot attract now. She is mine.

I push her.

She screams into my hand.

Onto me.

She moves. Softly. Waves.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Rape?

She screams again.

Presses.

Hard. All around me. Pleasure. But she screams

I stop. I stop before I finish and I hit her head. Her head droops. Now I'm alone.

She still shivers. I put on my clothes then dress her. Her chest heaves still. I touch her. She jerks. I stop. Mine. But not. Her breast. I finish putting the buttons through the holes. Like us. The buttons are like us.

I put her in her bag again. I cover her. She doesn't smell of me. Of mine. I am there, but I am not important.

Her smell is still choking. I want her. I had. But I cannot. I am not mine.

I touch again. Mine the last times.

Her dreams will call me again. Now more. She will think it was a dream. I will not answer. Not again.

I will die. I will die before I fall again. Instinct. Animal. I am not.

Enough.

I jump up in my tree. The kitsune whines. She has changed to him also. He does not know how. Young. Little.

Innocence.

I took hers.

She is not mine.

I am not mine.