Villainous Innocence

Dear lord, I ask of your guidance.

No, demand.

No, beseech.

How can you allow, then forbid, then damn me with this feeling?

If only one -anyone, any creature, any being with mind and soul- can comprehend the intensity in which realization floored me.

No, no. Not "floored". Such is a ridiculous word to even consider utilizing. For I was not merely ran over. I would select that merciful alternative in a fraction of a heartbeat. The intensity was sure to put umpteen yards between us before murdering the gas pedal. Even as my lifeless body lay there defenseless, it continued, glancing backwards as it casually backs up, and repeats the merciless act, again and again. Only you know how many.

My heart did not "sink". It plummeted to the deepest ends of the ocean, devoured at once by the ghastly grotesque creatures that inhabit the pitch black corners. The microscopic remains then settled on the ocean floor, where microscopic critters fed till there was nothing more of me.

Indeed, the absolute worst moment in my dutiful life was the moment I realized my bottomless plunge. Lord, not bottomless. For I will hit the ground soon. Soon, I shall withdraw from this teenage atrocity. That is all it is! That is all it must be. And I will stop, halt any further plummeting, and hang my head in shame for ever allowing these lewd, wicked thoughts to roam so naturally, almost freely.

But when? How long will I fall? How long will her devilish eyes, unworldly innocent, reel me in and intensify these obscene sentiments with every split-second I dare fix my own upon them? How long will every word, every wretched syllable, rolling off her tongue roll into mine, and, without an ounce of my consent, play again and again? How long will her filthy -yet incorruptible- smile command my own to surface? And how long, my merciful lord, how long shall I look forward to the days I am able set my sinning eyes on this creature and -I swear upon thee as my just witness- fall victim to her lips, her nefarious lips, specialized in the diabolical art of mesmerism, as they painstakingly, yet effortlessly, formulate speech- speech that makes it seem she senses, knows, and understands the indescribable, immoral things they do to me...only to pretend that these stirrings do not exist within me? And should not?