To West Texas

This cruel, delicate beauty crashes down on me like a humid air right before a storm, the pressure crumpling my body into a compact ball, ready to dispose of at a moments notice. My hands, my nose, my eyes, the crevice where my collarbone dips, they all fold into an oddly recognizable lump on the ground. I try and run, escape the pressure that I know is coming, the pressure that can turn me inside out with just a fleeting touch of its hand, a graze of its body against mine. My withering feet slap against the unforgiving concrete, bloodying the once smooth skin that laid there. I feel your breath, hot against my calves, the monstrous breath you hold pouring rancid odors all over my feeble body. I turn, out of fear, or self-loathing I can't tell, and look you straight in the eyes. You look down on me with those same precious eyes, the ones I felt like I knew so well, the eyes I never really got to hold in a gaze. You hold me there, in that beautifully horrible trance and let your eyes bore into mine. I take a step closer to you, knowing the pain that comes next, but I can't seem to muster any type of emotion to hold myself back. Everything about you is inviting; the way your hair falls in graceful locks down the nape of your neck, the posture you hold as your eyes rake over my body with a gaze that could almost be considered wary. Even the way you hold that smile on your face, that all-knowing cocky smile. You loom over my frail body, every pore in your body leaking a feral grasp on me. Your hands reach out for me, fingers fluttering my skin as lightly as butterfly wings against a windowpane. I know I should be running, fleeing from your horrible outstretched arms. I fall to my knees and you gently lift me back up, cradling me in your arms, whispering things to me. None of those matter, none of those mean anything now.