Then the curtain rose. They spoke.
The buzz of murmuring lips pricks at my skin like static.
Sharper than the crowd, I feel his eyes cut at me.
His gaze glints with the harshness of the stage lights.
He parts his lips with his tongue.
I see a flash of teeth
And know of the tenacity with which he will bite me,
Thrashing with vigor and venom.
From the wound what has boiled inside burbles out
Leaving blistered skin in its wake.
But this pain is purifying, cathartic,
As the murmurs slowly stop.