Time taught me
Never leash dogs for my battles.
Their teeth may bite,
but not with my honor.

Better to bleed alone,
and lose the fight clean,
than win by another’s growl.

The twigs remind me
of ancient a memory,
muted by time
and our efforts to forget.
You remember how
You’d snap a twig into two,
then we’d sword them off,
like two chivalrous knights,
queer knights that feared
a shared sunset together more than
Battle.
What happened next?
the next memory seems to
slip away from me too,
imitating you.

Fighting for sleep,
fighting for peace.

Manic, depressive
episodes, just
to start.

Doing everything I can
just to not
fall apart.

So I can
make it another day—
wake up
with a fresh start.

Tried to reset,
tried to see,

but the future is blurred,
and I can’t believe
I’m back at square one:

the battle
of the elastic
heart.

The knives
hit harder
this time,

but I’m not afraid.
I’m not afraid
to get back up,

and show the world—

I’m not broken.
I’m not folded.
I’m not out
for the count.

Who is this person that I’m living alongside;
I don’t mean my girl; I mean myself.
Is there an alter with impeccable timing to hide;
a thought I think and feeling I’ve always felt.

She digs her hands into my armored flesh,
the areas I reassured could pass each test.
Instead of titanium she sees it’s made of mesh,
“I’m sorry that I’m not the best of best.”
We watched our house burn down
watched the last ember hit the ground.
I place missing posters of myself around town;
truth is I don’t care if I get found.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

Sometimes I feel like I’m presented as an open book,
with torn out pages and a cracked spine.
On full display but no one even stops to take a look,
missing the hidden message in each line.

We shoot the **** so incredibly breezily
but I’m reminded that I bruise very easily,
so I find a way to tap out without anyone noticing.
But it’s done just too feebly.
Burned bridges and scorched earth,
my decision to cover with AstroTurf.
Taking lives instead of giving birth,
and I’ll only strive to make it worse.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“The screams and the shouts
show us what you’re about.”
The beast I try to tame,
but can hardly even maim.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

I have this habit of never learning my lesson
and sometimes almost crashing my car.
It’d be tragic or it could be a hidden blessin’
what’s another addition of a scar?

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse”
“We’ll turn you into scouse,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“A pox on your house,
but not on your spouse.”
At least they aren’t that rouse.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

i poured half a grand
down the sink,
watched the bottles bleed
their amber and ruby
in the drain.
a sacrifice —
a promise
after a thousand lies
dressed in shame.

my world hears detox:
lemon water,
fizzy drinks.
not my veins
beating to break free,
clawing closer
to a single drop.

my husband says
i’m not what i think i am —
because i can stop.

as if stopping
wasn’t a war every night,
prayers whispered to a god
i’m yet to find.

but there’s a circle
where i can admit:
hi.
i’m an alcoholic.

in the half-light
their voices don’t press me
for whys,
or ask when i slip.
they don’t judge
when i wake again
struggling to hold
my coffee,
hands shaking.

i swore not to give it
any more room.
but i still speak of it,
and carry its shadow
to my secret crowd.

no one should be alone
when entering the fight.

If I were to tell you
All the stories
In my
Head,

Would you believe me
Even
If I
Said

That:

I see mortal war
Waging
In your
Plan,

I see me staring numbly
At the destruction
You are
Clad

In?

Fight me,
Fight me,
Tell another lie,

I’ll believe you
Once I die

And you close
Both my eyes.

Fight me,
Fight me,
Tell me again

That you are
Not
A foe,

But a friend.

Smite me,
Smite me,
Oh, God above.

Is my imagination
The same as your creation?

Spite me,
Spite me,
Oh, my dear friend.

Are you willing
To take me on

With your words
And not your hands?

Although I sleep so sound at night
In my mind rumbles an endless fight
Each side believes that they'll get more
Make no mistake: this is war.

In my mind, I live alone
Inside a house of cobblestone
There are no neighbors, and the fight is violent
But inside the house, it gets too silent

The thunder clashes with the ground
The demons fire off another round
Angels strike them with their bows
So round 'n' round the battle goes

Why they fight, I cannot discern
The demons cheer with each soul they earn
Lost souls gather to find their way
Falling victim, becoming prey

An angel falls, a demon dies
Such things happen when fighting lies
Each side is right, but both are wrong
Both cry out their battle song

The truth of war, the why they fight
Is sealed up in a copyright
Action stars and movie scenes
To drown out the righteous screams

An angel saves a soul at last
The battlefield feels so less vast
A total of souls saved was seven
They were blessed to get to Heaven

Angels and demons call a truce
The victim puts away their noose
For once at last, peace is found
Thus ends the savage battleground

Then the darkness comes back 'round
Just when they found their common ground
It starts again, just like before
Make no mistake: this is war.

The late night casting out a soul.
The body had acted on its own—

When no one is aware—
That this is my darkest hour.
———
Wander around even when you are slumbered on your feet.
The sounds you made, mocked me whenever I  thought to myself.

In my darkest hour let me figure it out.
I can tunnel my way through—
Like a honeybadger using my claws as a liability.

In my darkest hour, sincerely— let me be.