Gone.
Gone gone gone gone gone.
Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it Where is it where is it where is it where is it where is it
The gate. The gate!
Here once, gone now. Adrift at land, the tunnel dry, the ocean AWOL. A wall. A wall where a whirlpool should be. Not a wall. A floor. Where, where, wh—
This shouldn't have happened. That woman who came through. Who my prey took carnally on the couch. Woman who fucked my prey. It's messy. They were messy. They made "love" so hard the whole house shifted. Walled me off. Caged me. Cucked me. Trapped me.
All I am now is eyes. I am going mad. Not the mad of the madness I bring, not the currents of terror I baptise my food in, marinating to tear them apart. An older madness. A loss of purpose. A severance. A pink slip from coherent thought before it jets off to the cerebral atoll in the astral sea.
Missssaallllliiiiiignnnnnedddd. Severed likea windpipe from brine and breath and brain. The two-legged walking food uses a metaphor for the feathered reptiles once its head is removed.
Riptide. I am riptide no more, I am just the foam after waves, that collects on beaches thick and ugly and with shape and scent that the human-food fears touching. Every bubble is an eye. I am only eye. My vision reflexes and recurves and I see every inch of this house but I cannot move, except where I can wiggle along the water pipes like a plaything in bondage. I want to eat the woman. Old prey is bland. She will taste better. Eating her frees me, I'll bet! I can whisper. I can hope she gives in. I can hope she gives in. I can hope she gives in but if she doesn't I am trapped. Staring. Staring. Staring. Starjng. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing. Gazing.
They cannot destroy the couch. I am like the skittering hardened-bugs that line ocean floors. This sofa is my shell. This couch my fortress. I am too weak to find my legs beneath me and if I feed I might be able to move but until then I am at the whims of the morsel-walking-talking-skins until they drop something they need beneath my shadow.
Let her drop something first.
Until
Then
I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch. I watch.
