Just a late adolescence.

Many legs, resting, under frozen hair
my outline of pantomime pretension,
the stalker I raised in a womb-like lair.

Half-measures, failures and regrets: a dare,
a filthy pursuit of my own negation;
many legs, resting, under frozen hair.

Dancing together on the road to there
we both poke fun at my interventions,
the stalker I raised in a womb-like lair.

Not to arrive, but merely to share
in those grand old highs of mutilation;
many legs, resting, under frozen hair.

Laughing when denounced by cartoon despair,
when assailed by pleas for our cessation,
the stalker I raised in a womb-like lair.

And, when I grow tired, he was never there,
just done to death by a tired decision,
many legs, resting, under frozen hair,
the stalker I raised in a womb-like lair.