Mister Hunky

Hunky, like a soft voice filling spaces between large rotten dots blotched on my ceiling. I watched his meddling, the going abouts and wafting of his too big too boots and dirty jeans, clunking about breathing washing machines. Close my eyes, cover my feet, curl up in a ball, try to squeeze his furry half face to pieces. And blast off! I zoom out the door, check the lock, and laugh down the hall, his hefty breath trying too hard to catch me. Until bedtime rolls around and sweetness I see his other half face catching moons and bringing them to me. I grab a drink and sit in destiny, a half smile, my eyes wondering back to the ceiling. Woozy, I see made up stories of when he was that bright light, strumming soft melodies on a rest. in. peace. guitar, played me a song once, sang about a sunken ship. He was not so rough, then. But, boy, you’re a siren. Poked fun at my chest, “you hate me, at best.” I roared at him, clenched my fists, punched his gut until Keith told me to quit. “You’re never like this”. A few weeks, and Hunky was not speaking and I was left with nichts. “He’s a schwindel”, she said. Still, I let loose a bottled up b***h I tried to keep hidden (there are two chains around that lock for good reason). I see one face, his jagged teeth, the other face, his perfectly combed hair, and my rash ugly insecurities playing tricks on which one is he really?