A tiger came for me.
A deal attempted; consenting to freedom but negotiating to keep a few links of the chains that bound.
Agreeing to be what I am, and secretly stashing a little of what I am not in the back of the suitcase.
Doesn’t work that way, and this is known, known, known.
Meanwhile, that slavering, slobbering, stinking beast is growling and drooling all over. It doesn’t care about wounds, dismemberment, death. It has what’s left of the ridiculously non-existent me in its jaws, and the worst has begun. Consummation.
It doesn’t see destruction, only result: its own fuller belly.
It shakes its head once, twice, working up to… what? An orgy of pulling and ripping? Flying away with a broken bloody body in its jaws, to devour what remains of the nothing me at its leisure?
This is utter impersonal ruthlessness with a laser beam focus. Its owness prime; all else but in service to that.
There is sickness unto death of the pretense of a point of view, gluey thoughts, an imagined duo.
Reality is toying here; It conceals and pretends to look. Hides, then simulates seeking. Foundness is happening, a violent end to what never was.
So make way, make way. Time to go.
Ripped flesh, empty shell, final shreds of self. Time to go.
Tiger is eating my name.