You feel it ripple your bones,
in waves, in waves, in waves,
wavering across your spine,
in and out,
seething,
teething the bottom of your mind,
the part that connects jaw-line to skull,
the part you wish to pry your fingers into,
the part you wish to slam your knuckles through,
the part you wish to tear ligament from ligament from
the part you wish to ground into thick, black pulp and sod.
So you can mirror yourself
violated.
Painting self portraits, fists swinging
wildly,
narcissism sails eagerly from
cascades in skewered necks.
Could you finally, then,
give?
Could you finally, then,
give enough
to let loose hounds
thundering in your throat,
gullets run red, raw
from pulling chains
through bowels…
Could you finally, then,
let the outburst out and burst through those very bowels to spew fragmented thoughts onto the floor after you’ve berated the very walls that dealt with the pyres and the floods and the ice and the hell outside foaming at the mouth to be let inside to rip you apart in the very fashion that you ripped apart your own heart in an effort to live up to the family that sours in your veins?
And their mothers cry as they **** harder,
and their fathers cry as they swing harder,
and their sisters cry as they scream harder,
and their teachers cry as they blink harder,
and their preachers cry as they lie harder,
and their friends cry as they grow farther
apart.
Now we can see where they come from when they gag and heave into a night of small candy pills.
Now we can see where they come from when they’re found face down in the ditches and gutters.
Now we can see where they come from when they cry into the same phones that split their skulls
Now we can see where they come from when they stare, hopelessly waiting for the pawn shop nine to pull itself.
Now we can see where they come from when their ***** fills their lungs in cars and bathtubs painted red and brown.
Now we can see where they come from when their fathers drop them like wasted forties into the streets after ******* in the empty bottle.