I hold the fear right next to my heart

crammed inside the cage of ribs

pressuring my lungs to burst

With every inhale

In one exhale you broke away

After months of holding you close

So close you became a mechanism

A match for the candle

A hand for the fight

In a breath I was left alone

without a flame to feed

Or a fist to clench

And the fear eats away at my muscle

Coagulates the blood to obsidian

Nightly, I dream of your return

I dream of you softening me

Your hand crushing that black rock to dust

Nothing ever comes away easy

Not the bandage on your knee, nor the wax under your arm

Not the ink in the carpet, nor the scratch in the wood,

Not the bruise on your skin, nor the welt underneath

It comes away slow, drags heavily upon the earth

Like the weakening soul and its drudge to the grave,

Like the babe inching its way out of the safety of a womb

Come away, slow and reluctant,

Resisting the hands that gather you up

And raise you to a harsh brightness,

And welcome you to a world unknown

Past the whiteness and into the pupil

I find only death and the black beyond

An obsidian I fold into with ease

I’m damned to bleed away and fall forever into infinity

But deep in the center

Is a heart that belies the darkness

A pool with endless waves of innocence

Holding colors that reflect something lost inside me

I hear the oceanic whisper amongst my mortal consumption

So soft and yearning, it calls me tender

And I’m inspired now to dredge the tar

And conquer the thickness between us

I want to find solace from the nightmare

I want the Heaven that waits in the water

You’re a soldier of a grim war.

It wages on and

You age on, becoming weathered like a letter torn, like a blunt sword

The only sharpness left is the knife end of forgiveness

As you blend into the wilderness

You could say you were faithless

There’s no God in the bloodshed

And no hope for the helpless

You age on like letters fainting off wilting paper

Leaving only the soiled thought that I alone could be your savior

But then, something is born out of the darkness

With only blood it manifests

To pull you toward the emptiness

To leave behind all your regrets

It’s an angel of the Earth

The right hand of nature true

It knows how to handle something weathered like you

It cleanses the wood of sin, the last trace of your will

Leaving only the silence of a forest ever stilled

A day will come when you will surpass my flesh.

You’ll destroy the dam, and a flood will follow, and I will be helpless.

Is it best to sink into this knowing?

My time with you presses upon me,

threatening a hollowness I cannot overcome.

And when I can stand the feeling no longer, I’ll be forced to fill the hollow with your sounds and your touch.

I will know you in ways I never wanted,

and you will understand me in ways I never could.

Toes are aching and

Planting, replanting

On linoleum, no soil here

Just “daylight” from

the glass

Above your head

And his

The light paints

Black in his creases

Releasing the night

Found in his iris

darkness spills

into your awaiting

gaze, which is

yawning,

gaping

And the ache

Is spreading like

The hands on your

Shoulders, then back

Your feet now grounded,

Stuck and

Soiled

like the lips

That taste you

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I. The Girl Who Carried the Stars

The creature sulked

and slumped

and lurked.

Its voice was demonic and echoing

as if Its throat was an extensive, damp cave.

It bellowed the first command with lackluster.

It was in need of entertainment.

“Bring me the oceans.”

The girl had no choice but to venture into the desert

And then the forest

And then the jungle,

All barefoot,

Until she reached the vast waters.

With wavering strength she forced the water to travel across the lands.

The water would collapsed upon her

And the salt dried her up.

The sharks attempted to eat her,

They bit at her skin.

Nevertheless, she endured the oceans

And delivered it to the creature.

It laughed and howled

At the absurdity of her gift,

At the fact she’d actually done it.

The creature was hysterical.

It was instantly fascinated

With the girl and her subservience.

It bedeviled her.

“Bring me the mountains.”

“Bring me the jungles.”

“Bring me the waterfalls.”

“Bring me Europe.”

“Bring me the horizon.”

“Bring me the moon.”

“Bring me the stars.”

The stars were the worst of them all.

They were unbearable.

They branded her,

Ignited her flesh,

And left her skin black and smoldering.

But the stars had been

The most amusing

And the most pleasing gift of them all.

The creature laughed and clapped,

Invigorated and roused.

It offered the girl a sadistic praise

Before sending her off once more

To have her acquire for It the universe.

II. Getting Older

A vast wilderness now lies within me

the same way a crater sinks into the moon.

And there is this woman that wanders through it

Possessing a conviction I can’t understand.

I feel that she doesn’t want me to either,

But to simply let her roam as she pleases.

Somehow she knows this place better than I do.

I try to trail her, but I lose her every time.

And when I see her again, it is only because she decided to find me.

This woman is an asteroid, gone and lost in space,

Leaving behind a forested crater in my chest

that is possessed by her essence

For—seemingly—no reason at all.

All the time I find myself impulsively digging at it with my fingers.

III. Pseudo Ribs

Pseudo ribs protect this very real heart

Like a child protecting her mother.

These ribs are small, child-like fingers

Attempting to encase a mature heart,

a mothering muscle,

With youth and innocence.

What must be strong bone is still cartilage.

What must be full fledged is still immature.

These ribs falter, but they play their role.

These fingers are small, but they still cling

To their mother’s trembling hand - and tremble with her -

reassuringly

Like pseudo ribs

Around a defenseless heart.

IIII. Ruined Perfection

Heaven sends down an angel

Like an open mouth spilling sweet nothings.

The more I grow,

The more I envision

That same mouth overflowing,

Like Heaven sinking toward Earth.

But I know better than to ponder

Heaven spoiling

And overflowing mouths.

I know better than to ponder ruined perfection,

And there is perfection in the sculpted outline of those lips.

There is obvious perfection in those

cold, golden gates— Heaven’s lips.

What a perfect idea that angels

Come down to see us and help us

And spill sweet nothings,

But wouldn’t it be such a sight

Seeing them cry?

V. Sympathy

On Halloween I spent the night in my room.

I counted the wolves outside my window.

One, two, three,

Three vampires, now trying to find me.

Apparently my blood is a delicacy.

I counted the skeletons passing by:

One, two, three, four, five.

And yet I still don’t have a spine.

In the middle of night,

When I had finally passed out,

The vampires and wolves

They came into my house.

The skeletons were too late.

When they finally arrived,

I was already bitten and drained,

Torn to the bone,

But they stayed for a while.

Then, they gave me a spine of my own.

VI. Pain Exiting Flesh

Tear into me on a starry night.

Open my scars. Lay out my vulnerability.

It will be a red carpet for my soul

As it ascends to the heavens.

I’m assuming it’s true,

That God wants every single soul,

Tangled and warped by its own possessor.

Even if God ends up turning me away,

I beg of you,

Turn me inside out.

Expose my intimate sadness,

My blood and guts,

To that phenomenon with

unadulterated emptiness

so that my vain presence

disrupts its opulent indifference.

It doesn’t matter if nothing is out there,

Just don’t let me rest with that mess in me.

VII. The Butcher

November was a bloody month.

It was the end of me and the beginning of us.

The end of “mine” and the beginning of “ours”.

But instead of extending to one another,

reaching for each other’s essence,

I became a part of you.

And like the handle of a knife extending from my heart,

so murderous and final,

I am the extension of you: the butcher.

You sever pieces of me to replace the missing parts of you.

What part of me is your favorite? What part of me will you destroy?

I

A burning morsel

On a severed head’s cold tongue

All blue in nature

You await the dreadful day

When the head decides to bite

II

A call from the woods

A soft ringing from the birds

You, ringing along

Higher than the feathered beasts

Just to keep me off my feet

III

Beneath skin and bone

Resides a raw desire

A pursuit of peace

No spring I find fulfills it

No strength I have can hold it

Your words keep me feeling underweight.

They pour into my heart with a soft trickle, leaving me only half empty.

I may need to learn how to cherish the bare windows of my soul. I may need to love the exposure.

There is something heavyweight about vulnerability, like a large, solid body on top of me.

I cannot roam past the feeling. I must let it have me. I must like it.

I do like the heavy feeling of you.

It cancels out the inadequate fill of your words. The way you speak leaves a half-hearted sensation in my chest.

I cannot escape it.

He dismisses my skin, felled by the knife.

The simple foe an unwitting ally invading the warmth of me,

a tongue as sharp as his which invades the mouth of violence.

The intimacy’s a parasitic guest that he hosts in the crowded hall of his ribs.

His lungs sigh from the pressure.

His heart beats a frantic rhythm.

My Blood spills like water.

He makes good to break the dam of flesh,

and fulfill the promise of Death.

He savors the unforgiving Crimson holding the essence of me, of him,

everything we could be,

but nothing beyond our reach.

It is bold and undeniable in the sun. It winks back at the sky.