I could reach into your pocket and take money for breakfast and you wouldn't even notice. If you could and did, you'd bite me and I'd be your little meal. No problem. I've been giving myself up in tiny bits for so long it's really all I know how to do. I fire another shot, this time aiming right between your eyes, but it fizzles.
Later, you finger my ass in the dark and tell me it's okay. But it's not. Even invisible it's not. Knowing god's probably on another continent somewhere, I plead: I'll cook you an incredible dinner tomorrow night if you stop. You consider my offer. “Nah, I'm not hungry,” you reply, moving a little faster. LS