this is the unasked question

this is the unasked question. we always come back here, don't we? this same place, four walls, one room. i am in you; there is no escaping me. you can lose me for a while (in a mug of coffee, a sunny day, a friend's smile) but the track marks on your wrists call to me and your thighs are red where i have tasted your flesh.

i will taste more flesh before this is through, and more than that besides.

you know why i'm here. you know what i want from you. you know what i will ask you to do.

( the dark night, early to mid-october, is cold, silent )