a keyhole into the past
i find breath on my neck, again
it is not the darkness behind
the door that scares me
i pick the corners of my fingernails
eating the leftover skin
the breath whispers
“adore me”
it is not the darkness of
the unknown that scares me
i jam a screwdriver into the lock
prying open the door
but also, my ribcage
scattering dead butterflies
the breath turns to laughter
which sounds like a car accident
it is not the darkness,
the end, that scares me
fingers bloodied, body
dismembered, i enter
“i have swallowed myself
whole before.” the breath whispers
as have i
it is the darkness
inside myself that scares me
--A Conversation with Anxiety
Smite
god cracked his whip at my spine
spreading lightning streaks
across my back
and into my brain
frazzled uncomputed thoughts
interrupted my solar system and
the sun that spun in the center of
my gravitational pull snuffed out
a candle is no match for
the breath of the almighty
i have lost myself in the darkness
claw marks line the center of my
ribcage and strewn
teeth lay in my belly
i peel these teeth from
my core and rearrange them in
my mouth as a smile
#poetry #prose #horror #macabre
Buried
your first breath filled your lungs with dirt
your insides felt hollow and empty
you clawed your neatly trimmed nails at the intricately
woven and hidden string that wired your mouth and eyes shut
free, you see the darkness that has swallowed you
you can feel your favorite watch, heavy on your wrist,
the one that you only wore for special occasions
you wiggle your fingers down to the silk tie,
too tight around your neck, and down to the metal buttons
you try to move to the left, but the tightness of your
cage forces you back down, to cross your hands,
like the well-behaved child you were in fifth grade,
but unlike the reckless adult who never wore his seatbelt
you press your hands to the roof of your confinement,
but the weight of the earth above you presses down, relentlessly
#poetry #secondperson #POV #horror #afterlife #prose
Words Under the Knife
Sometimes I find myself performing
autopsies on old conversations
peeling
away my diction like freshly severed
flesh and I wonder if I had
cracked
ribs differently or refused to remove
hearts and drain your blood from
your veins that I would have never
stolen
the air from your lungs turning
your lips blue and
splitting your bones
under the weight of my words and no matter
how deep I dive into the body I always
find my pen writing out the cause of death as
premature
and I bury my feelings deep into
the soil next to the last one and they shall
stay there until the next time I dig up the body
and find myself lingering in the morgue
#poetry #horror #macabre #freewrite