(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

the moon burns brighter
glaring at me
shying away on your name

while I shamelessly
hide in my misery
of your poisoned
pillow talks  

but

                                                               ­                           the moon sees it all
                                                             ­                           even under my skin
                                                                ­                     even over my pretend
                                                         ­                                     truly wondering
                                                                ­                               how I am doing

Will you love me still
when my flesh has fallen to rot?
Will you love me
when decay has taken my form,
and fed my flesh
to a grave full of worms?
Or should I slow the
gangrenous bubbling of my skin?
Will you love the ivory perfection
of my bones, sweet one,
so like the grasping branches
of a dead tree...?
Will you still lie by my side,
our flesh rotting together,
the roots of a tree twining through
our ribcages?
Will you still love me,
love me dead?

Just the right distance
from
Can't get far enough away
Safe
shadowed and still
you can't see me
out
here

where letters slow
down where typing
slows down and
letters want to crawl
back up my fingers
from whence
they came

undo close
undo undo undo
nothing happens
and the wound
doesn't close

I have 12 percent
distance
bowl distance
molecules
of masking flood
to the fingers
where the fight has declined
to skin on plastic keys
immune to pressure

the forefinger tip tracing the squarish
key of j
or is it J

Circling definitions feed
on my showing up as
posing weakness
and pieces drift away
like readers

so it is, so it be.

life granted me a boon, come to me, the honey.

not the merest of coating, but a power enrichened,
capable of driving out the slow acting, daily killing,
poisonous venom.

makeover, coverup of tears of ancient marriage-madness,
black swan hate disguise, her lies, venom injection of
coffee blood staining love pretense, now just scar tracks  for a
new boulevard.

the slow pour,  the golden russian amber intertwined tones,
tongue tasted, inside me now, revealed in slow exiting, beauteous,
mellifluous tears.

you dance with the stars, I watch you watching,
clueless that my thee-flavored tears, dance and pour down
my face.

destitute, nearer my God than thee, god blessed this child's life,
love gifted from sweet bees, late in life, flew from my computer screen and sonnet-stung me with antidotes of
love n' honey...