I want to glow in the way that a burning house does       but
I'm afraid to lose my foundations;
I've kicked them out from beneath myself so many times that I've stopped blaming god and since then, also, stopped asking him

who wants to be the pacifist that allows rot to turn to decay? I want to be the annihilator that turns lust into impassioned regret.
I will announce in the hour of concession every ill thought I've held, turned to glass beneath the pressure of my own resistance

I am powerless to act upon my desires,
I am sick in the same ways that i am well

She's talking about the cloth we're cut from and the scissors she used
but I'm only half listening, because
there is this pain in my jaw that comes from dreaming
and outside the house i can hear somebody speaking

She's asking about the axes I've ground and the wounds I've licked,
I can't tell her a thing and in this dream
my mouth is sewn shut and I am not strong enough to change anything

in the morning I will wonder why she comes to me,
but doesn't stay

The barren woman has the last laugh
like a blow to the back of the head, a knife through butter
these things are simple
I've seen a grave that belongs to me, and I've walked with men who comb the streets

here I lay, here I sleep, here I propose aloud the mystery of my position as I am both now and never;
she who hunts; she who burns
she who does not unto others but unto herself

and I am the weapon and I am the wound

and I am a visage of un-reality - the snake that writhes in circles to devour itself;
a kind of destruction, a kind of re-birth