My New Fiction (stream of consciousness writing 18)

Stop living
Like there is no way
Out:
The lights,
This on again
Off again
Slim-fitted sickness
Your body-
Vapor waste
Of secondhand
Something or other.
And your pallor
Though becoming
Is malignant.
It grows.
Steadily.
Like teeth-
Something you will always have
Even unto death
Lest you get them
Taken by a random
Or
Premeditated act
Of violence-
Like something from a movie-
No.
I wouldn't spend and hour
And a half
Of my time
Alone in the dark with you
To find out what violence is like
Because
If it is anything
Like you say
Then I trust
It will take me
When and where
It wants...
It-as if it is
Something like fate
Which involves faith
And faith you claim not
But fate controls
Your every move
Even the way you hold your cigarette.
Fate dictates how you let it
Burn down to the callouses
On your fingers
And I have faith it'll burn you.
Then, maybe, we will talk
A little differently
About violence...
The way it sneaks up on you
Like a third degree blister.