Oranges

This is the first time you have made me cry not out of fear of what you could be,

But in terror of what you are.

My mind is torn

Apart, I turn over the words you say

Over and over,

Struggling to establish any structure;

A chip in your elusive language.

My world resorts to flipping itself upside down and then back again,

For a first, the heat was not the extirpator of my energy.

Rather it was the sheer force of your compulsion,

I was bare and unsuspecting to the lab of your mind which I was wandering right into.

I walked out of there

With an orange tinge in all the places you touched,

Your influence so contagious the host is forced into obliteration:

Even as I lay in pieces

I still screen your words into possibilities. 

Has what I've taken of you found what it looks for?

xx,

CLL