A subwoofer and an altar.
Decorations and a substance to make it so holy.
Thou preacheth and thou washeth away.

The ball drops and I become a man, I survive cancer.

I begin to wear dresses.
Examining myself in the magic mirror.
Wondering what it is that makes the mythos.
The mythos involving difficulty and strife when speaking of womanhood.

Staring at the ceiling brings a thought. Wipe the mote from my eye. A pale horse approaches. A scab remains unhealed. A bruise is formed. A question.

Thus...

I'm asked how it went.

And I wonder what it was I chose to share.

What was it I chose to separate my memory from?

I refrain.

A drink in my left hand and a drink in my right hand.

The door buckles. Machiavelli. Police. Jilted exes.

I am afraid for one half second.
I forget for one half second that I am calm and tranquil water.
I forget for a second that a beast rests at the base of my skull.

I remember to be grateful.

I look down at my pens and smile.

I look up and sever the necks which once felt so proud and so soft.

Tearing limbs from sockets I find peace.
I find love.
I find undstanding.

And I can't stress enough this cadence.

One half of a whole.