seeking to devour bits of you, pieces of me.

It sneaks up like an innocuous stranger

whispering semi-sweet nothings in our ears.

We respond, programmed to recieve the lash.

Poor piteous un-animal you, inanimate me,

destined for greatness, capable of so much,

cornered from all by the demon.

Not a choice anymore; we gave up choosing long ago.

We only respond now as the lash of the demon falls

laying bare the raw open flesh of our own insecurities.