Siana says, “F--- you,” with that static beating condescension as she drops that one book on your desk and turns on her heel to Go Away and i hum god save the queen because sometimes humour is the only thing that keeps me from losing it.

at the opera for some reason and she touches my arm and says <i>why are you hiding from me stop,</i> and i imagine silk skin under silk gloves, and the way she loathes me because she wants me kind of makes me despise myself for wanting to find that one thread at the hem and pulling so i can see her unravel all the way. One good tug would undo you, Darling. <i>Pardon</i> she says but she’s a dream obviously why else the opera- <i>I can’t hear what you’re saying</i> and in my dream i don’t have a mouth and even if i did nobody’d hear me over the white-gloved hands that are clapping us to death.

the glass is cold against my shoulder blades and god those smudges are going to be a pain to get out and this is Real Siana pushing me against the window (and please let’s move away or at least close the drapes) with her Body and her precious Propriety, only i have this thing in me, and it’s called killed the cat, and i feel the way she kisses me like she despises me and herself too a bit but mostly me, so when she tries to force her way in i can guess at the fear and desperation pushing through the bars of her teeth, and hey, it’s me Letting you kiss me. The way you loathe me sort of makes me despise myself but not enough not to think <i>i’m going to get inside you, and then we’ll see who’s hiding.</i>