Eventually my memory
will lament
in daydreams
//:.
that my pride
was dissolving in my bed,
//:.
that my solace
was pacing vehemently in my head,
//:.
that my martyrdom
was telling me I may recover,
//:.
that my return
was murmuring softly,
//:.
that my fury
was invading my hiding door,
//:.
that my frenzy
was stabbing at my scalp,
//:.

and perhaps my memory
will stutter
as always,
//:.


and I can stack my scabs again.

I steal love with

the

part of my lips,

the

fall of my chin,

the

reverence in my temples,

//

so I scoff with

my

unblessed prayer,

my

impossible keeper,

my

wretched skin,

my

faultless pleasure,

//

and grace swoons,

puts me back in my place,

mutters sin in my mouth,

tightens grip in my hips,

stokes flame in my skin,

//

threads pain

inside,

weaves mind

inside,

names fear

inside,

makes more

inside,

//

and I am unfeeling of pardon,

unwanting of heaven,

ungoverned by god,

not bothered, on purpose,

not waiting on mercy,

//

and I stand with the evil,

the blind,

the kind,

the pained

and the stained,

and steal love with them,

because

//

we are unneeded by hell.

To you, I return coal-dull
and as embers,
smoldering as their petals,
soft as their roots,
but rough as their stones
and to you, I become
gray.

Go back.

It was not her.
//
When she saw me hurting,
she knew it was not her.
//
When she saw me sobbing,
it was not her.
//
When she saw me choking on my breath,
//
when she saw me shaking in shock,
//
when she saw me screaming for an escape,
//
it was not her.
//
I cowered in my skin
and it was not her.
//
And when I was dying,
it was not her,
for once.
//
I stole away from her
her hands
and her broken rage,
//
her sorrow and terror,
her unwavering pain,
//
so that
for once,
she would
not
have to
hurt again.
//
I was so kind,
so for once,
//
it was not her.

They stand
like I almost did,
look like I almost do,
and speak like I almost have.
'=================='

But they walk from me,
leaving me ugly and bared by my ill name,
without any purchase in the words I have left,
'============================='

and they return to those
who waited for them
to just come back.
'==========='

They become
hurting and healing
in one fluid stroke,
forgetting about
the edge they have always
walked along.
'========'

They are ready to stand next to them
instead of me,
in my stead,
by my heart,
'======='

so I turn back to the mirror
and refuse to let
someone who
doesn't want
to be real again
walk away from me.

There is a blood
that is beating in my skull
that is gluing my veins
and is pulsing in some silence,

へへペ
but my hands are moving,
but my breaths are dripping
out and watching me
without reason or thought,
and my tongue is ticking too,
howling from me a language
I have yet to understand,
let alone voice,
and in the end,

へへペ
an urgency is returning me
as a snapped over twist,
leaving me without purchase
and bleaching my words stark,
so I wonder:

へへペ
what's in my bones
that's making me move?

The whole time,
I was running as fast as I could, consumed by the flames that only knew that they should whisper
—————————————————
to just run
—————————————————
just run away,
—————————————————
that they should lick me
to get a taste
and desire me forever,
—————————————————
that they should laugh
to keep me fleeing,
—————————————————
so away and away,
—————————————————
to keep me fearing
for my life and even
other lives,
—————————————————
so
many
lives
—————————————————
enough
t­hat in a terrored moment,
I couldn't remember
if they were my own,
—————————————————
and at the end of the edges
that I just kept running through,
—————————————————
even though
there was nothing left for me
to see or feel,
nothing left to convince me
that safety was only steps away
if I could please,
please
just keep taking them,
—————————————————
I was stricken,
impaled on
the thought,
the horrified suspicion,
some feeling bent on attacking me too,
the final flagship of my guilt,
—————————————————
a death speech,




—————————————————
that maybe I was leading those flames instead.
—————————————————
Where should we have gone?

<>
When he throws you                 at the wall,
and hugs you
and bites you
and screams in you
and kisses you,


let it be back then,

when she threw you                on the floor,
and stomped your filling
and snapped your stitching
and sliced your corners
and kissed you.
<>

Tighten your throat
and you can go to bed again.
<>

If I could save even one person, maybe I would speak.

、、、、

Her flesh wrapped around her like kudzu on a tree, parasitically engaged in what others yearned for.

If you can't rely on blood, who do you have left?

So I stayed. Because no one would come near. How kind she was. How gracious and loving and loved.

、、、、

Her skin became cold. The very ***** dedicated to masking her advanced structure became like a marble slab left in the snow. That flesh that cradled her meaningless meanings hardened like the exoskeletons she imitated.

She was an insect through and through.

、、、、

And even if cold was the absence of heat, the left-behind contraband someone else came to cherish, she emanated the very invasion that enveloped her.

She radiated her icy salvation.

、、、、

And so when the time came that I was able to touch her...
When it was upon my own flesh I would feel what she refused to feel, she grasped onto me.

As if she longed to drag me into her abyss with one last throe, one last labor of love for her blood.

、、、、

My fingers never fell off, but I was frost bitten. My organs never failed, but I was shredded apart by the sting of the sobbing wind.

、、、、

I didn't become her marble carcass like I should have.

、、、、

She didn't take me with her.

I couldn't save her anymore.

Not even if I had devoted my life to doing so. Never again. She left me behind, and I was cold too.

、、、、

My skin is not chilled to the touch. My muscles are not the remnants of a frozen cicada shell. My skeleton is not made of the icicles left to melt in the sun's triumph.

My tendons ache in the wake of an ancient breeze that blew by far too late.

、、、、

I am not a slab of cold marble.

、、、、

I am a starkly darkened visage to behold and not be held, forever turning over and over,
never ceasing and always yearning for that which never was, and that which will never be.

I was only for their sake. Never mine, even if I pretended.

、、、、

This endless daydream that expands before and behind me, that twists in tendrils that are deplorably mine and

soak in the oily water that inisists on being my keeper... I will not let go of the ribcage it offers to my grasping hands.

I will bear who I am. I am my sickness.

、、、、

I will plunge into the needy and engorged expanse of shifting flowers and lodged viscera.

I will continue to encase and cease.

、、、、

Forever in my head.
Forever in my skull. Forever tapping in my cage. Forever clipping my scrawny wings. Forever sincere.

、、、、

I loved her, and I couldn't
save her.

She was dead, and I couldn't save her.

She was alive, and I couldn't save her.

、、、、

What remains?
Irreparable me.

He prowls,
loose and deadly,
fears,
light and hungry.

But they don't tell him,
NO,
they don't tell
if they're laughing
or crying.

(Aren't they moving their mouths?)

He pleads,
flailing,
wanting to fail,
but he warns them, still,

(Why aren't you afraid?)

they don't stop him.

He should run,
save them.

(Please listen!)

He can't,
and black shields him.

(Stop hurting me.)

Void and
blinding
and gone,

he stands,
towers.

(Don't look at me.)

There are strands
on his fingers,
pulling the bones,
digging,
gripping,

touching,

(Tasting?)

next to nothing
around him,
and black pierces,
picks him.

(Where did they go?)

He hears them part,
then gnashes them,
gnaws them,
his snarls beg from them,

(Where did you go?)

and it panics,
urges,
burrows
in skin

(Get out of my ears.)

They sicken his eyes,
cover them,
throw them,

(Get out of my ears.)

sense leaves him with nothing.
As nothing,
he stands,

(Move.)

he prowls,

(Move.)

loose,

(Move me.)

deadly,

(Make me.)

and fears,

(Warn me!)

light,

(Me.)

and hungry.


;Narcissist.

—
his eyes are calamitous


and he twitches as

his lashes sink in his skin
to whip at his cheek
and peel away his lids
—


his iris wobbles from the shockwave


and his scleras are greyed in trauma

and his brow crumbles, too


for some remission
—

and when his violent eyes close
he repents behind them
—

his descent is final
as they open just once more

and his lashes rise in suspension
—