he calls you wild, dionysus
he calls you sweltering and dangerous

and you know when he says it he doesn't mean beautiful or kind,
because a boy that means beautiful or kind isn't a living boy

and you both know this to be true.
he's bored with you, and you both know this to be true.

he makes you drink the wine and then he makes you laugh
or, not in that order.

you don't remember.

starving burning moonlight screaming onto your skin
you turn to me and say,
is this okay? is this good enough?
and i say, god. god, it's perfect.
and that's all it takes: you, shining in the doorway of a broken
motel room,
and me in your shadow.

this bacchanalia-
this history, loud and drunk
and reveling
she says, and: your nails are bitten to the quick, doesn't that hurt?
doesn't that hurt?

there's a Heart of Virginia Festival magnet bleeding out onto the
countertop. it's been like this for weeks, i think. i've
been sitting here for weeks. letting the phone ring and
not picking up. a couple of old strawberries molding in
my palm. two ibuprofen waiting to be swallowed resting
pretty on my tongue, melted down to sulfur and acid.
i'm not the right kind of sick for you. bees buzzing inside my
skull, lazy and
sticky sweet. blood dripping from your face to the tiles.
gutted and fresh and stinking, and
you won't stop carving dead languages
into the meat of your thighs, muscle gaping red and raw
you sit in the bathroom of a Macy's and howl,
like youre wild,
like you're hoping someone will round the corner, fists flashing
and ******* stop you.
youre not a Real Boy, you say, spit it out quick and harsh.
thats what momma said- you'renotarealboy.
faster than before. like you're scared. (i know you are.)
my shoulders go up once, twice. what the **** is a real boy?

and he says -
you are a cathedral, arent you!
youve been lying to me!
by god,
the mercy in his eyes
(and i thought -
i could drown in this,
i could drown in him. and i think
that would be alright,
wouldnt it?
not the worst way to go?)

there are spiders in my skin, i think
and theyre happy there

I FEEL THE FURIES DESCEND -
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO SAVAGE A PILE OF MEAT AND MUSCLE
THE STENCH OF IT, O GOD
O GLORY SCREAMING, WHY
RAGING AGAINST SOME BROKEN
DYING THING:
PEEL THE SKIN FLAKING FROM MY BACK,
WEAR IT AS A TROPHY
FASHION MY SKULL INTO A SICKLY CROWN
YOU DESERVE THIS THRONE! YOU
REALLY REALLY DO!
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO DIE
FROM SELF HATRED
PUTRID FIRE AND MALEVOLENCE
REMINISCING LIKE OLD FRIENDS, AND
MY FINGERS LYING AT THEIR FEET
I WAS NEVER ALIVE! NOT IN THE
RIGHT WAY, AT LEAST, SING
SONGS OF MY COURAGE
SACRAMENT AND DUST SENT OUT TO SEA
ON A FLAMING BOAT
NOTHING BUT A SHATTERED URN AND A
DECK OF CARDS
AND A SUICIDE NOTE THAT SAYS SORRY,
WRONG NUMBER
THIS ISNT - THAT IS TO SAY, IM NOT -
I CANT BREATHE, NOT WHILE
EAGLES SWALLOW MY LUNGS, A FLY SWARM
TURNED HOLY SCREAMING
REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT!