He tightens the rope.
She is attached to it.
Once she liked the gesture.
It meant something different to each of them.
The rope is twisted and it massacres her skin.
And he gets aroused.
As she crumbles beneath his grip.
Yet she stays and resists, believing in the pleasure.
He’s holding her back as he’s sinking.
Around her hips she carries a belt of scissors.
Her hand needs to go there and get one.
But he is the master of hypnosis.
She cannot think clearly, lacks articulation and eloquence.
He extracts reason and sense.
She is left with her bestiality.
And drowns herself in undeserved intimacy, setting her own body on fire.
He lashes out his thick rope, hitting her in the face.
Erasing her hair.
Cutting off her bloodstream.
She pleases him.
Stripped of her femininity he desires her the most.
An unwanted shadow in the eyes of others.
He elbows her into submission and incarceration.
He denies her to move forward.
He is the one who’s stuck.
Her gaze is forward-looking.
His attention a grave.
Mania becomes the scissor herself.