His words are repeating and repeating, found in the warp of everything like razorwire book binding. His skin cuts me, the breath burns. In the back of my throat is sandpaper, scraping free every word that leaves my mouth of care. I don’t know why this bothers me so deeply. My body rejects him and twists me away. This is being stricken, a word I thought existed merely on page. I met and liked an Angel, she carries aspects of kindness. For the chosen I carry only respect, but I was misinformed on some of the choosing, the choices, and I do not agree. I should rather live in a barrel then go with a lit lamp in darkness, looking for an honest man. I draw battle lines for equal treatment, whatever the saga of who is king of our painted hill. This other does not seem to carry qualities that I could hold dear, no, and this is a weight, pushing downward, the affect compacting. I can’t imagine conversation with these demonstrated traits, this is not what I signed on for. There is no regard. Late to the game, there is no negotiation, I know, I’m not a piece in place to do so, this travels beyond me. Strength of feeling kneecaps me, takes my pleasure from me and transmits pain. One paragraph makes me fall to my knees in the shower and die. Under water sounds, no one can hear me keen. I cried into the long hair of five friends on Saturday, they let me and never asked a question. There is a difference between trusting, opening self up to arrangement, then finding suddenly it was built on misunderstood information. The pistons misfire, the signal misdirects. My reflex hits, telling me away and not here, I am wrong to want this. Into my life has crept a thief.