Bad Poetry

There once was a woman who had an affinity for cats.
She stroked and she pet them in all manner of lust.
Entangled and lost in act and in trust.

Purr little one. Purr little one. Purr.
Backs arching each stroke, teeth gnashing and white.
The woman and feline seductively fight.

Marble eyes roll like planets in space.
They tangle and mingle and bare teeth as to bite.
The coo and they mix in each others delight.

A fishhook. Unexpected but known of.
Things tighten and flex until harm finds its way.
Both animals struggling no longer in play.

Flaring heat and blindness. Taffeta and silk gape, and pull.
Claws tighten and lock in the smallest of seconds.
Time stops until things are soft again.

It's night in my mind all of the time. I can't do anything without turning on a light beforehand. It makes me feel dead inside when the lights are off all of the time. People tell me to trust myself, but I just can't. It terrifies me to think that I might one day have to. The dark can be a good place to be. It can help. But it is still terrifying.