I am a clock that clears its throat and repeats itself
Always stuck on the same sentence
Never able to contribute more to a conversation than a dull click
Over and over, setting teeth to grinding.
I am the clenched fist, too,
All the bones and muscles smiling at each other
Curling up against their lovers
And holding anger inside of them
Like a tongue between teeth
A chime caught midway
I am the midnight hour that echoes inside of itself
The way the impact of fist against mouth
Echoes through eternity
On the hour
Every hour
Repeated
A metronome of rage

I can hear my bones talking to God, they ask him why he hates us and he says he wrote the fracture lines in our skin with perfect precision, he did not create us with the knowledge to heal.
And yet.