Who does she think she is?

She knocks on the door;
       she wants to come in.

I say, “It’s unlocked.”
There’s silence again.

She makes my lids drop;
       she teases me so.

Oh, how I’m aroused,
       I sigh.

                  She knows.
She whispers to me,
       “I’ve called you by name.”
Then laughs in my ear.
       “Don’t you hear me dear?”

My eyes are burning;
       I want to let go.
Madness is churning,
       rattling me so.

“Silly little child,”
       she says in a trill voice.
“Isn’t it time?”

“Time,”
       I tell her,
“is the enemy beast.
So much of it goes by
       without reprieve,
I’m aghast.” 

                “I know.”
She smiles back;
       her grin has worn thin.
“With arms wide open,
       I’ve invited you in.”

                  “That’s such a lie!”
Now I’m mad. I’ve had it.
She’s really whacked.

Energized once more,
       she knocks on my door.

His Demons, Her Daily Nightmare

So full of life; at the seams, she’s bursting
Yet the daily grind of mental torment
Kills felicitous tone, leaves her thirsting

No escape from sulfuric lake of ruin
Yet she treads while choking acrid poison
Willing a new dawn under the paled moon

Low. So low, no grasping breaks the traction
Yet alone, wounded, abandoned, she waits
Until her salvation’s moved toward action

Glow turns ember; near exanimate’s door
Yet keeps on breathing, while longing to stop
Still, without calm; can no longer ignore

She never dreamed of a life within his nightmares