i. before this the trees were alight & the hardwood was tracked with mud. down at the riverbank i embrace a golem made living flesh. her skin when she touches me leaves silt & grief. i grab both of her hands and call this the world. i grab both of her hands and drown them in the river.

ii. this softest horror that creeps in my bones, it begs of me to listen
& i do -

cause: you call me pretty. you beg me to sit in your open palm. you cover my eyes. sloppily, with your fingers. you tell me to be still. you hold me still. you hold my breath. you hold a knife to my throat. it’s not a knife. i’ve told this story before. it’s not a knife.

effect: you call me pretty.
you gut me like a fish.

iii. the stone-girl who lives inside the mirror & begs for scraps asks me how to go home. the showerhead screams. the girl has my eyes but only when i’m not blinking. she has no hands. i say nothing. someone is screaming. she hangs her head in her hands. the water is too hot. the lights keep blinking. i feel everything & nothing. she says nothing, and somehow it is worse.
nausea.
nausea.
nausea.

ad nauseaum.

iv. the house does not fall apart but it is a close thing. the roof is leaking. everything is covered in dust. i fill my cupped hands to overflowing & the first layers of dirt chip away. i pry them apart & open. i put my wrists on right-side up. i excavate. i perform with or without anaesthesia. the girl claps. i take a bow.

v. the wind smells clean & of wet earth. i dig up the body in the front yard. my/her hands tug dandelions out of the grass.

we lay in silence.

our hands touch,
flinchless.

Walking on my head
In a big judgmental world
I let my feet fly