I been watching you…
Ben’s looking up at me,
his mouth soaked and smug.
His lips keeps moving,
but all I hear now is the song.
That fucking song…
The guitar repeats, repeats, repeats—skeletal, bones rattling.
Every Breath You Take?—
every pluck lurking,
every drumbeat sneaking,
like footsteps stalking
heavy with obsession.
My eyes crack open to motel room 613.
The drugs mope sluggish inside me?—
thoughts,
blinks,
all dragging their feet.
I’m tied down, sprawled on a motel mattress groaning under me,bedframe pressing its knuckles into my spine,
wrists screaming,
ankles caught,
rope sawing skin.
The air stinks of sweat, sex,
and sweet rotting roses.
Petals stick damp to my thighs
like blood gone cold.
My head’s packed with wet cement.
I can’t lift it.
All I can do is move my eyes,
from the ceiling,
to the walls where candles drip,
