wanna.

Your disbelief intrigues me. Like fodder for my brain.

He's standing right behind you, with a balloon and a gun. There's magic in his eyes and sadness on his lips. He wants you to know that he cares very little. Its just an orchestra in his brain. He's almost positive you're the crescendo. How long can he keep this going? How long can he keep you in ------- suspense? He possibly feels the same way you do but enjoys it. His songs are innumerable. His acts are finite. It ends when you do. Or when you end him.
Stop pawing at it and man up. Rip the throat and enter. There will be a day to remember.

monsters

Who are these monsters?
These 10 o'clock people?
Do they fear my touch as much as I do theirs?
My skin is nervous. I fear letting my monster out. I fear it would not be well received among these potty trained mongrels. Its naked violent ambition..
Can they see the shape mine takes? I would almost beg to hear their description. Are my visions truth among my senses or just a grotesque fantasy?
Everything seems like its built on tension. I know they're monsters because they walk this tension like a well accomplished acrobat on a low tightrope. I'm starving..
Who is who? Its not a question of trust, its a question of...what?
What do you ask? There is no answer that can't rise another question. I'm torn. I'm scared. My faith is deep. But their claws are so long..