Ivy

It begins in the chest, like a dark weight,
A tiny pull that betrays the inevitable and irresistible vortex,
It pulls on the ribs, then pulls on the shoulders,
Black tendrils reaching and seeking out,
Searching for every node, every nerve of the beast inside,
Warm fingers burrow into the subconscious, pulling at the strings,
Thoughts of strength and prowess, violence and blood,
Slowly it reaches into the arms, the neck, the abdomen,
Coiling in the muscles, tensing them, tightening them,
The sickly vines reach the mouth and throat,
While the fingers pull more strings,
Thoughts of victories, of feasts, of meats and wines,
Black saliva, while still clear, fills the mouth,
While bile floods the stomach, and it growls,
Inside the chest, the weight grows stronger,
Threatening to consume every part in turn,
And now, here, it begins to bolden,
The tendrils coil tightly around the waist,
And burrow deep inside, while the thoughts begin to change,
Thoughts of curves, of heat, and motion,
Of sweat, of teeth, and voices,
It grips tight the arms, closes tight the jaw,

Now this, my friends, is the last chance,
The last moment to realize, to take control,
For if you fail, She will have you.

She whispers in the ears with dark thoughts,
She flushes the body with fire,
She promises such things that the heart begins to race,
And when the eyes close, the assenting breath let out,
Be you alone or not,
She has you.