Curled up in the grass,
under a tree,
A figure lies and waits,
for the moonlight to drown in the sea.
No eyes,
and no heart.
Just a thought,
an ache,
and— pssst, it starts.
Body twitching,
limbs stretching wide,
it jerks upright,
willing itself through the night.
Its shape twists,
and the air cracks.
A cloud and then two,
it turns, looking up at you.
You stand by the window,
still and without breath,
you watch it move away,
step
by step
by step.
There’s a knock on your door,
and steps in the hall.
The creaking of stairs,
raising your hairs.
You go back to bed,
curl up in the sheets,
and smell the grass around you,
feel the salt on your cheeks.
You hear the waves nearby,
feel the cold night air.
And the figure from earlier,
strokes through your hair.
It whispers,
it laughs.
it traces your jaw,
you shiver,
your breath hitches,
and your skin crawls.
Warm hands,
cold face,
five fingers,
is all that it takes.
It’s brief—
the salt and the ache,
when it digs your eyes out,
and feeds them to the waves.
Sand in your hair,
and salt on your cheeks.
The stairs—
they creak
and creak
and creak.
Eyes to the sea,
it burns and it stings,
you blink and you rub,
the room around you spins.
You sit up in your bed,
no sea in sight,
blood on your sheets,
shimmering in the streetlight.
You swallow and breathe,
pull them tighter—your sheets,
you lay back down,
and curl up,
hear a wet pop.
By the bed,
in a canvas of blue,
there’s two eyes,
staring at you.
You scream,
but no sound escapes your lips,
there’s sand in your teeth,
and blood underneath your fingertips.
You jump out of bed,
bolt down the stairs.
Can’t see a thing,
you’re night’s plaything.
The room is gone,
and so are your shoes,
you bolt out of the house,
into dark hues.
And down in the grey streets,
where the sea laps at your feet,
there’s a figure in a suit,
ready for your meet-cute?
He laughs and he whispers,
brushes your hair out of your face,
one—two—three,
and his fingers are in your face.
It’s brief,
the pain and the ache,
the fear and the wake.
And you sit in your bed,
heart thrumming,
throat too tight,
staring out into the night.
Curled up in the grass,
under a tree,
the figure in a suit lies and waits,
grinning,
enjoying the taste of your fear.
Maybe next night,
he’ll be faster than you,
and gift your eyes to the sea.
Me reading this: ☺️😊🙂😕🤨😟😳😰