and though we breathed the same breaths
under different skies
and in different tongues
though the whispering birth
of one
was the death of another
both righteously tainted
both cut open
bleeding into me
and her
and us
and them
and god i wish there was no them
i know
i know i know i know  
the room was ink
and cheap leather
and there’s no room for god
in collars or letters
but have your bones been mended?
and
has the bleeding stopped?
because their hands
are still red
their wounds like honey
sticky
infinite
crystallized
so, my love
it’s time you learn to sew!
stitch up your broken!
sever the wicked!
make your mosaic!
and i’ll tattoo it on my sleeve
i’ll bottle it up
and swallow it
and when it sinks into the ocean of my body
i’ll think of them
and hope
that some day
under some sky
they can taste it too

Feathered —
Vulture, not Pheasant
The matted Creature seethes atop her squalid roost,
A nest of shameful relics at her talons
Jilted —
She does her futile bidding in secret
Deluded devotion cloaked in compulsion
She longs for the backbone of a coven
A colony to call home
Unburdened by the inevitable  
The indispensable
The inescapable
Ravenous —
Her bloodthirsty quest
For a kindred flame
That her brokenness can’t smother
That her shame can’t suffocate
It consumes her spirit from within
And ruptures from her mangled skin  
Violent —
Varmint spirit
Feasting on the fleshy decay of her victims
Bathing their corpses in her venom
She weeps poison
A filthy, putrid wet
Starving —
Though it may be true that amidst its scavenge,
The creature devours with madness
Do not be fooled; the Vulture is known to fast
For once the meat is eaten, the marrow quaffed  
And it’s only the corpus delicti that remains,
She’s reminded of her greatest craving:
An emaciated phantom,
Just skin and bones and stains

How deluded must you be
To try and compete with me
For all who look will see
Her heart belongs to me

How pathetic to be you
To only paint in blue
And obsessively pursue
A love that won’t come true  

We found your silly letter
I thought that you knew better
You thought that you could get her
Yet you never truly met her

How tragic is your plight
How ugly is your spite
How foolishly you write
How do you sleep at night?

I want the pulp of you
Your stringy white insides
I want the lattice of your creation  
To get stuck in my teeth
I want to savor every sliver of you  
The parts of you that need a warning
The versions left on the shelf
The bits of you that blend in with the fruit
But pack a punch
I want to relish in the chewy remnants of a skin you shed long ago
I want to peel back your orange shell
And taste the tender threads that hold you together
I want to drink your syrupy nectar
To gnaw away the sweet parts
Right down to the rind of you
And swallow the secret pomace of your heart