2 A.M. Aphrodisiac
What is it about this place that makes everything come unhinged? Everyone falls apart at the seams without provocation or encouragement. Come midnight in the bowels of most places, people have visions of their coaches turning into pumpkins and fairy god mothers come to life. But in this place, come the striking of the midnight hour, everyone turns into the wicked stepsister; the shadows and dark corners command it.
My normal transgressions of being a wallflower and needing this solace more than anything were shattered like my fairy tale illusions and instead the tables turned and I was thrust into the spotlight when I desired such attention the least of anyone. Normally even wallflowers need a bit of light to flourish and reach out their arms to the light. I, however, would have preferred to wilt under cloudy skies and lightless closet spaces then be the one taking center stage this particular night.
My dreams are troubled and I think my soul is in some lost and found basket amongst spiked collars, leather jackets and mismatched high heeled stilettos.
My words are spilt in mismatched piles and when the lust finally seeks me out I held in my left something I desired and something in my right that wasn�t mine.
The 2 A.M. aphrodisiac claims another victim.
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