She
drained my energy, I was a slave
to her, the human counterpart
to her relationship with Facebook,
Vine and Soda Crush. I made up for the
fact
that the screen in her hands could not
fold
laundry or satisfy her sex addiction. I
slipped
away from her grubby palms, and she
grabs
the air for me, tugging at the threads
connected
to my heart beat. "I know you
better than you
know yourself," she whispers.
"We're soul mates,
being with me is inevitable." I sit
up, sweat
dripping down my back, trying to catch
my breath and tear myself back to my
bed,
the quilt I lay underneath. I beg her to
move
on. Her ears are taped shut, a political
statement
she claims. Her claw-less fingers rake
at my skin
and implants her own cells. My body
repulses,
shakes and seizes. My hands are
black
from the metal of the bars that contain
me.
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