Oh how you mock me. You silly thing, constantly swimming around my neck, around my breasts, around my knees. You curse. A murdered form of creation that I am nary saved from. I can feel you snake your way through the tangles of my auburn hair, trying to dig your way into my skull. But you shall not have your way, I say. I am no Medusa. I do not turn men to stone. I will not turn men to stone. If I must, I will gouge my eyes out and be blinded for all eternity. But I will not turn men to stone. They are a decent people. Every one is born decent, I hope. Oh how could you exist. And since you do exist, why do you exist with me. There is a whole universe out there for you, you harbinger of doom. The filthy things you bring, like oily seaweed in a virgin pool. My skin is smooth, not spiked. My eyes are round, not thin. Quit that choking. Your strangling is an innocent man's noose. I will not be controlled by you, you, you, shoo!
(photo via Net-A-Porter.com)
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