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Jul 2013 · 1.0k
Water
Julia Jaquery Jul 2013
there are drops that tremble
along the edges of my glass--
i stare into them, trying
to see how they cradle blood
in their atoms.
they yield none of their secrets.
they slide
unnoticed
through my veins.
they are crystals that emerge
gracelessly, unheeded
to ponder the airless spaces
that clutter my lungs.
tonight they roam like ghosts
to the unclean surfaces of skin that
stretch grudgingly across my bones.
they tremble
to the lights.
they are silver pepper
that sting my cells alive yet
i can't feel them singing.
they inhabit me
and uninhabit me too quickly
for me to invite them home.
they find no home in me, only
poison
to **** into their loving atoms
blindly, uncaring
that they are contaminated with
my waste, my blood.
they carry these things from me
to pour back into the forge
that melts my mistakes.
they permeate any weakness
to sustain it.
to prevent me from bloating
with toxicity that unconsciously
finds its way inside
especially on colored nights.
they click their tongues at me
while i'm sleeping, they
can see my dirt-encrusted synapses
and the hitches in my skin.
they feed and chastise me
from within.

— The End —