Oily

I drove over the water this afternoon. The wind had picked up...a storm in the Gulf. The waves weren't crashing, they were undulating. It was hypnotic. They seemed oily and menacing. I found myself looking everywhere but there, at that water, and I saw a hawk on a lightpost gutting a fish or smaller bird. Vicious.

I'm seeing omens, hearing voices. I can't always make them out, so easily confused as a woman in pain or passion. It's in my head and it won't leak out anymore. Normally I find an outlet, but it's all swelling up on the inside, making me bloated with doubt and fear.

Even in my sleep, it comes. I dream of slithering things in my ears and hair, sly and sibilant. Hisses. I wake shuddering from the feel of fresh saliva on my skin.

I know the source. I know it all. I know the deliciousness of this feeling once it has been relieved. In the thick of it, though, I dread it. Loathe it. Twist it and harbor it. It's the cold black cloak I wear when I need you.