When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pause,
Their shoulders high like the
******* of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.

One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.

Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.

Maybe.

The floodgates
                      have opened
                  and the tide is high
            the dam has burst
    in explosion
of tear-bombed third eye
      saltwater rushes
           culling dark demons
              from the deep
the most buried
of creatures
awoken from sleep
viperfish and tube worms
                     vampire squid
twirling their tentacles
to summon the id
squelching up
                    impulse  
from sinkholes of mud
primal instincts excavated
                     from tombs
                          of slick crud
Deep-seated fears
have been beckoned to play
to disregard tears
take resistance away
and while blown over
by this twisted abyss
she remembers a flicker
            of the shadow of bliss
      and like a mermaid rising        
up towards surface
                      blue heights
she grasps at the cirrus
leaking tendrils of light
pulling up hand by hand,
in sea-tangled vine
a vague sense of sweetness
flushes out brine
and when she breaks through
                           the surface,
her heart like a sieve
she finally owns it-
the power
       to
            breathe

If you have never awoken late in the night
to a soul-crushing feeling you could not identify
To the hammering hooves of a racehorse heart
With a jump and a gasp and a fright and a start

If you have never felt a pillow of darkness upon your face
As you drift off to a silent place
Squeezing out every single breath
Playing hide-and-seek with death

Thrashing in your bed, reliving what's been said
Clutching to your head
In fear of an impending explosion
if you have never felt the erosion of time
or the way beauty becomes grime
to be wiped away on a windscreen
and if you have never seen

the pits of darkness pooling at your feet
and fully given yourself to defeat
if you have never laid down to close your eyes
certain that you would never rise again
then

You have never known the terror, the fear
Which bears down upon myself year by year
And never would you hear, with ears this pure
the screaming  of the demons which trap us here.