Casey Gilfillan

It really is too much, the way you stare and let your gaze linger without accompanying sound. That look in your eyes, that you put upon and then leave me to bear, inspires me to want to disappear or tear my skin off. Whichever would be faster. They strike me so softly (your eyes); they are like your hands in that way. Your hands, which have the harshness of a cursory glance. Your skin grazes mine but I do not want your whispering remnants. I do not want the trails of your promises. I want to feel the fullness, the pressure. You rescind and retract and deny me, yet you continue to present before me. The duplicity of you is something beyond even your comprehension. You do not intend it but you perpetuate it. You enjoy, but you do not want it. I enjoy and then am sick from it.