I never realized how warm my fingers were
Until they were pressed to my skull.
Never realized how they seem harder,
In some way, than even metal.
And believe me,
Right now, I would know.
I know I won’t feel the heat;
Not really. It’ll be too quick.
But I can feel each knuckle now,
Their sharpness should make me sick.
Because if I take them off my skin,
I know I’ll be doomed,
As long as they’re there,
My ambition is pointed at the roof.
Even if I do, I want them to be last
Of the things that my body feels.
Because, even as they stab into me,
I’ve never felt a peace this real.
The moment of calm, before the storm.
No sun has ever felt so warm.
Maybe that’s where it’s all gone.
My extremities stealing the fire
That began in my heart,
All along.
Maybe I’ll stay here forever,
Never moving my hand.
Never following through
With this most recent plan.
And maybe that will be enough.
My fingers are so warm,
Pressed to my skull.
I won’t take them off
Until they make me feel whole.