Where do I put down all this rage?

I met her in complete darkness. My rage.

She's clawing at me. No, not her. Her pet animal.

I ask her what she wants. She says, "Let me be your pet."

What does that even supposed to mean?

Pet or not, she's already mine, isn't she?

She is all I have on some random Tuesdays.

She is all I feel, all I taste, all I mingle with.

Yet, she claims to feel alone—neglected.

What does that make me?

She's not even angry, she's laughing.

Mocking.

She stares, her fangs visible.

I stare back. "What the hell does she want?" I thought.

She comes near, trying to lick my face.

I flinch, but I let her. "You're insane," I say to her.

"You're definitely me," I continued, my chest feels feathery light.

There is a bit of light now.

I can see her—like really see all of her.

Not because I can, but because she lets me.

Might I say, it is grotesque looking, I almost look away.

Her scars, I mean.

And not only her, the pet might be born that way.

"Shit. What have I done?" I say as I look at her.

She simply says, "I can take it."

Then I realize, the pet clawed at me just like how it claws at her.

Not out of malice. But out of demand.

She did it. She does it. She is doing it.

Yet... she is laughing like she is enjoying herself.

"I can't help it.

You too.

Can you?"

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

She smirks, bringing a blade.

I watch her. Not like I'm watching a theatre drama. But more like a hypnotic trance.

She tests it on her skin... and on her tongue.

Like a kid given a new toy.

Except, that's been hers for a while now, yet it still excites her.

It's only been some seconds, but it feels like forever.

"Are you done?" I ask straight at her.

She chuckles, looking up at me, "You want some?"

That breaks me.

Not apart. But in laughter.

What does that say about me?