Violence is the only answer when the question strikes first.

ive been taking Tarot classes again
like card counting can provide some clarity.
number XII: hanged man: left me dangling
free as can be.
climbing up lampposts to look down at the light for once
for once like the fool, number I.
the kitchen has been turned into a hell hole there's Cups and knives sharp as Swords.
the garden ravished for sticks to turn into Wands,
broken and jagged twine tied together for Pentacles- I through X.
Kings and Queens and Knights and Pages.
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

like the fool
i am.

force your words into my mouth
veins of vowels constricting around vocal chords
and the consonants crushing
my windpipe.

start to understand the violence alongside the language.

black ink i've tried to turn into different colours- by painting you in shapes, lines, dragging and slicing and crossing.

Thank you for being what I needed
and only asking for time to dry.

Thank you for being what i could reach for
to let me see the all the shades of feeling.