The Male in Minority

I haven’t felt more threatened ever before. The gay man with the whip and all his maidens surrounding me. I think i have reached a tea party where everyone is dressed up in pink, drinking tea and asking each other if they would like one cube of sugar or two. There is this desire to run, to chase, to be in the company of the silence venturing into the oblivion. Maybe I am a social animal, one who can’t be with everyone. The feminism present in this room can be cut with a knife. I think I’m suffocating in it. They seem to be standing in a military position, ready to strike on the first instruction. This nightmare will end, later than sooner though. Giggles all around, compliments, whispers in the air, flowing locks, gold earrings flashing in my eyes. My hands are cold even though I sit in this room. I think its the effect of the stares, the slow fall of the smile after the crane of the neck, there is no friend here, there is no comrade, only the end will be me running my fingernails down my keyboard. There were a few sane ones at first, while the others had all gone stark raving mad, but now they all seem to have gone on to the dark side. There are some like me who feel the same, but they lie quiet, zombified, mute to what was happening around them. It is only a matter of time before their balls drop and I see them wearing lipstick and putting on their maskara. I can see the horns coming out from the back of their heads. I don’t think I will be able to see the sun today. The darkness would have settled over by then. All I can do is run, far and straight, away from this madness, away from this madness.