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Silver rays of light from the moon
Fall to my face and force me to the ground
I buckle to the earth, and feel the grains
Hard, and cold, and grinding my skin.
It supports me in my quiet, though I long...
I long desperately, so intensely
For a passion.
Love or hate?
I feel a stirring within.
I want to crush you.
I want to feel anger, to tease it and play it.
In the sillouette my fist releases the sand
Slowly it tumbles, tiny specks of light sifting through
But no, too easy.
I toss the sand in your face.
Snarling.
You do nothing to me but nothing.
You continue to act in your own way.
Not provoking, yet provoking in liu.
I must wait.
The waiting is agonising, yet I cherish it.
Time.... time for deliberation and to confuse myself
So that I can then untangle the web that I weave
The moon in it's fullness holds me back
I both want it and detest it.
When it hides, I shall take it's place.
Allow me, you must.
For now I will pull my cloak over myself.
And wait... for what I expect is perhaps nothing.
I could touch you.
I want to touch you.
But I won't.
I know I could touch your face and feel it's chill
The chill of unchange.
But your eyes will betray you.
In them there is a warmth you can't hide.
So why won't I touch you?
Cold against cold.
No attraction, no repelling.
I am selfish and want the chill for me alone.
To touch you I must find warmth.
I have it within, but dare not search for it.
I refuse to admit to myself it's existance,
Thus I shant prove it survives so deep within the ice.
And so I stand alone, so alone.
Refusing to reach out unless in spite.
Wanting to be bitten... for the bites to be returned.
But they don't come.
I want to fight the beast.
I want you to challenge me, to prove what I deny.
I know it's there but won't admit it.
You know it's there but won't make me see.
Kiss me or kill me.
Drag death across my eyes, I dare you.
Put your warm lips on my skin, then tear my throat open.
You haunt me now.
I draw my sword to hunt the ghost, but the ghost won't appear.
I have to wait, alone, longing for the climax.
Haunted.
You stay hidden and refuse to satisfy my hunger.
My blood thirst.
Perhaps you are me.
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By Louise McGillivray
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