I don't turn my back, I stare them in the face.
They.
Like a shadow follows its host in the spotlight of the moon in the most quiet time of night.
Shadows.
Following, lurking, staring. They, the infamous they.
There is no name, there are no words known to me to tell you what they are. What they do. How they taunt me.
They stand near me, whispering, screaming, begging me to come.
I cannot run or hide for they are with me wherever I go.
In my happiness they laugh, knowing they'll tear me down, knowing it won't last.
They scream for help as if I am their savior. It makes me want to go to them, hold them like a child covered in darkness, but their blood covers me, it blinds me. Are they real?
Why do they need me? I ask why? Why did they choose me?
How can I possible join them? Can I? should I try? If I do does that make my heart dark too?
I am afraid to go to them, but they call me. They stay with me.
All my joys tainted by their shadows.
Are they a part of me? How do I cut them out of my head, out of my heart? I can't breathe, at least I don't think I can, yet I am here with air in my lungs. How do I make it stop?
How do I cut them out of myself, stop the whispers, the screams, the begging, the darkness? How do I tell someone? How do I explain this without getting put away?

.
Up becomes down
Red becomes blue

I'm just not the same
Without you
.

Should my body be a temple
I do not want it to be
a high cathedral in Rome.
I do not want its walls.
I do not want it to be
a protestant church.
I want my body
as a temple
hidden in the deep Amazon forests.
Because my body is... Wow.
My body is magic.
My body is tangled tree tops,
hair-you-can-wash-with-just-water.
My body is waxy walls,
skin shining from jojoba oil.
My body is vines tangling,
limbs which swing freely from
any place.
My body is sacred
on my own terms.
Ink is not to touch the surface.
Ink is not to cover the walls.
I want them
plain
and brown
and muddy
like reviving clay
mixed with rosewater and honey.
My temple is only to be marked by
tornadoes
and rains
and catastrophies.
Should my body be a temple
it will be honest and rough and brutal.
Like the rainforest it will be
damp
with the dark ghosts
running freely.
I do not wish for my body immortality.
Let my temple fall apart
under uncaring skies,
set ablazed by the sun,
blown away by the wind.
Let it waste away under
the violence of nature
for should my body be a temple
let it be at peace with the earth and the cosmos.
That is the only way I know
my body would be effortless and wise.
Not behind stone and marble.
Not inhabited by a choir of angels.
Not decorated in gold and silver.
Should my body be a temple
let it be a wild animal scream
in the middle of the night.
Let it be texture,
sound,
pulse,
life,
then death.

I cried over you
But I will not remember
The way I missed you