I pair my hands side by side
the servant that I am
I am nothing but that
and I give thanks in the most kind ways
that I did not brake the way I thought I would
after your stigmatic body passed through mine

your poise was perfect
and you walk with your hands trailing behind your back
pointer finger slightly extended
the orchid swan
holding in her tongue
holding in the poison

no architect could have built our castle
ancient ruins falling atop each other like
the moon falls into my scorned eyes in the midnight
when I sit with myself
when the ache hits the center of my black lungs
when the melancholy sighs to me
as if her pain is greater
when I know  that the true haunted king
sleeps in my stomach
arising and coming out of my throat
every so often

while I am sitting on the bench
while I am leaning on the wall inhaling those gray fumes
while I am reading my book
that is when that king comes to me
and wraps me in his hopeless melodies
of the days where we shared the same lips

and all I can do is give thanks
that I did not brake the way I thought I would
that the wound though alive
and breathing with its open sore of reds and pinks
pearls and hatred
did not slit me in half from head to toe

I know with my skin that you take pride in my pain
somewhere in your days you sulk in the compassion
that I hurt for you
it makes you feel wonderful and special
it makes you feel unique and beautiful

that me, who has had love conveyed to me in a thousand tongues
sits here alone like a cement column numb and baring nothing
receiving nothing, maybe simply existing
if that

you tread your eyes upon these poems
knowing in your darkest place that they belong to you
knowing in your darkest corners that you tore me
knowing in that part of your soul that stood naked in front of me
and how that part hid and wore a cloak of white
as to distract me from those short comings where you left me
with a welted heart here on my pillow
gasping for air
that would rather choke than be held by you again