secrets circle your irises like silver linings
and i'm not sure whose they are
because i feel like i give away everything
when i manage to meet your gaze

secrets play around your lips like silver
smoke
and i'm not sure whose they are
because i feel like i give away everything
when i open my mouth

secrets adorn your fingers like silver rings
and i'm not sure whose they are
because i feel like i give away everything
when you touch me

name it
ask it of me
i'll give it to you gladly

those who observed me while i was dormant
marveled at my majesty
unaware of the volatility that i barely kept contained

i was roped off, labeled with a tidy wooden sign that told me and others
what i was
a stoic monument and stable mountain

while at my core i seethed, i did my best to be what i needed to be in order to be witnessed

inevitably i erupted, frightening the gathered onlookers with a blazing rain of lava and a suffocating cloud of ash
the sky grew dark and it felt like the end of the world
but i needed to scream and i didn't mean to hurt anyone

i've had far fewer visitors since that day
i was fenced off, labeled with a rusting metal sign that told me and others what i was
a volcanic monster and volatile menace

i wonder
as i quietly crumble into the sea
if i will be remembered by humanity
and if so
will it be as the mountain
or the monster?

in the end
i think i would prefer to be forgotten

there once was a happy family that lived in a cottage at the end of a long and winding road.

once a week, in the morning, the mother walked down to the town square to trade at the market. sometimes she brought the children along, if they promised to be on their best behavior; they always crossed their hearts and hoped to die.

every week the last stop they made was at the butcher's shop. the butcher was well known in this town and several towns surrounding it. everyone came to them for their meat, which was prepared and wrapped right in front of you.

the best part was their price: all they asked was that you watch as they carved slices of flesh from their own body with expert precision.

scent carries the strongest memories
and when i smell the smoke of
a distant wildfire
i remember you

i hear sirens
and remember the song of you calling to me
– tempting me with your promise –
but by the name that would have crashed me into the rocks
had i let it live

i taste salt and blood
whiskey and water
ash
and lust
i had thought my palate cleansed
yet the flavor remains in my throat

when i dream about you, i often wake unsure whether i am drenched in my own sweat or yours
sometimes i can still feel the strength of your hands
around my neck
around my thighs
sometimes i can still feel your body along with my own
i wonder if you still think about me when you touch yourself

scent carries the strongest memories
and when i smell the smoke of a
distant wildfire
i remember you

the clippers buzz a drone against my skull
the hair falls like dead flies
into the sink and onto the floor
loose curls crawl down my shoulders and back
tickling my neck

afterwards i stare hard into the mirror
searching my own face
for someone i  could love
or at the very least live with

a fly, bloated, buzzes
trapped between the window and the curtain

i hear it bump against the glass
the wings crumple
the fly falls
landing unceremoniously on the windowsill

after a moment, the fly is once again airborne
returning to the window
to continue its exercise in futility