Exit wounds,
the holes in my hands
that bleed, trickling down
Stigmata,
an offering to God
a rallying call
to arms
I am Adam
biting the apple
the flesh of that fruit
the closest thing
to Hell
(and I am heading, heading there)
they ask me if I meant it
as if meaning means something
more than it does, when words can exist without it
here are the facts of me
(I say)
I have never broken a bone
I don't eat red meat and
I counted out each pill
it would be less ugly
to find me this way
than slit and gaping
in the bath
I was careful (too careful)
the first time
still, you learn by living
from not
dying. Death, I name my
hands
hands that throttled the throats
of a thousand men, the ones
I destroyed with my hips
(that was before)
I knew the taste of thirty Aspirin
this time
this time
this time
I'll survive if they kick me hard enough
if they call my name loud enough
if the doctor writes furiously enough
I am not enough.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
Exit wounds,
the holes in my hands
that bleed, trickling down
Stigmata,
an offering to God
a rallying call
to arms
I am Adam
biting the apple
the flesh of that fruit
the closest thing
to Hell
(and I am heading, heading there)
they ask me if I meant it
as if meaning means something
more than it does, when words can exist without it
here are the facts of me
(I say)
I have never broken a bone
I don't eat red meat and
I counted out each pill
it would be less ugly
to find me this way
than slit and gaping
in the bath
I was careful (too careful)
the first time
still, you learn by living
from not
dying. Death, I name my
hands
hands that throttled the throats
of a thousand men, the ones
I destroyed with my hips
(that was before)
I knew the taste of thirty Aspirin
this time
this time
this time
I'll survive if they kick me hard enough
if they call my name loud enough
if the doctor writes furiously enough
I am not enough.
Request permission to use this poem