[thisislife]

It stood framed on the threshold, poison coiling in its mind, flesh blending with the blackness, limbs climbing in and out of the night. The man lay in his bed, sheets draped lovingly across his body, the only divide between his flesh and the world. I let him in. Dreams tumbled within dreams, the twines twisting. The man still slept. The thing stepped closer, moving through the half-light, the floor gasping in protest. I let him in. A wind stirred the curtains; a locust cried somewhere in the distance. Long, worn fingers drew back the bed-sheet, nails skimming the man’s skin. He seemed so perfect; he seemed so right — I let him in. A breath.