The Microphone

Written at age 13. Not really sure what my intentions at the time were.

I stand alone on center stage
Motionless
Unable to utter even a single word
Impatiently waiting for him to return
Dreaming of his familiar touch
Innocently gentle
Enthralling me
An irresistible captivator
His lips barely touching mine
Leaving my heart hammering
Filling me with fluttering butterflies
Yet every so often, his touch is different
Excitingly rough
Manhandling me whilst screaming violently
Both terrifying and thrilling me
Effortlessly attracting my utmost interest
Yearning for the exhilaration to last forever
His energy seeping into me
Entwining us together forever
The perfect team
But without him, I’m nothing