The silence is no longer heavy.
I do not need sound to wake.
Dreams are breaths, and I am sober.
Watch me peel this dead skin.

My back is stone.
The last marks are your creases,
this porcelain chest can no longer bend.
You are quiet, and I am so very clean.

My ink, dried up, is rusting.
When I say I’ve written in blood,
dust my letters and blow them dry.
Empty lines are marks I can forget.

I listen to grunge music.
We talk, and I’d think this is love.
I waltz to any tune with distortion.
You wanted it posh, didn’t you?    

I fall off wires,
this circus is hypnotic.