Perspective

It’s about the look. The smile.

The moment.

That strange stranger connection. It lets me watch from wherever I damn well please. Inert metal or hot flesh. Eyes. Or lips. Even the fucking sky. Look around. I’m everywhere, baby.

I’ve been watching since I was grasslands, a cave, a hut, now this tailgated beast. I watch you—mortals born from the dirt, and hell spawn ejected up and out.

So, come inside me. I need you to come inside me.

I need you to feed me your guilt, confusion, self-hatred.

I’ll be your deepest regret. I’m your personal Hell, baby.

Copyright (c) 2021 by Matt Moore