Beast
"I'll be that monster you've been wanting"
Jacob Banks, Monster
Part 1
In moments of isolated clarity, when the moon hits the corner of my eye at the particular scope of an angle, when engines hum and splutter in symphonies, and the spectrum of urban lights dance on the water in biblical theatrics (reminding one perhaps of a rainbow), I look out and wonder if it was me who made a monster out of you.
Part 2.
But the announcer always speaks. The phone rings. The lights flicker into dark for an eighth of a moment. The moon is swaddled with clouds, and I shake off the faded image of sadness in your eyes. I tell myself there was nothing. You were nothing. I was nothing to you. I do this before you hear my heart cry out or before my fingers trip over my hands and dial your deleted number, desperate to scratch the itch in my ear that needs to hear you say my name.