Monday, 29 October 2012

Hold me Clostridia, tiny dancer

So there I was, laying in her bedroom. A beetle or an oversized moth was beating itself repeatedly against the fly screen, rhythmically demanding its way in. If only he knew how much worse it was in here, next to her. My love had been fleeting, momentary, a lapse of better judgement. Yet here I was, wondering whether to sleep or not, as the moon peered through the window and my mind reached out to a bug.

Was it her smell that drove the creature onward in its demented quest for entrance? Or perhaps the flick of light as I dragged on my cigarette? I snuck out of her door and down the hallway, but the vibration of the bug against the screen didn't stop. It reverberated inside my skull as I closed the mortuary door and slunk into the night.