tonight I faced my biggest fear
of a dog charging at me
and not letting it get hit by a car.
Unlike how you grabbed my ankles
and threw me head first into
a semi-truck and watching as
I combusted into dust and gray feathers on our 5th anniversary.
Maybe you were hoping to see a plethora of colors.
Just because I tended to inhale paint 
and spew it onto a canvas means
nothing. 
Y'know, it's awfully rude to build
a house on someone's spinal cord
after only biting their lip.
The blood didn't fill my mouth,
so I guess it didn't mean anything.
So until it does, I'll wait until summer
thaws the hearts of dead bodies in
every concrete cemetery 
so I can hear the earths core
sing my favorite song,
you hitting your coffee cup on
our ceiling like You've Had Enough.
You used to play it with your pulse
so loud the walls would shake
and start to erode at each crevice
your song made.
That poor house never stood a chance 
with the way our internal screams
messed with the plumbing.
But that's why you're hammering
nails into my vertabrae, 
and that's why you keep my coat 
on the tip of your tongue.
So I'll have a place to call home
and you'll always remember what my 
lips tasted like.
Vanilla and saltwater.
The taste of past lovers and sweet futures you always said.
But now your house is gone
burnt down by the fire that is my soul
after you three gasoline into my
intestines to get rid of the old letters
my mind sent through my veins.
never say you loved the hot waters of my skin.
you changed the temperature every time you got the chance.
which begs the question
how does one turn the dial
on a heart encaged like a bird?

momentum and fragility builds in my legs and hands
my toes curl and empty air beneath them begins to buzz
an electrical current that is blue and gold begins to
make love
and sends bolts up my vertabrae stopping at my
knees that are knobby and bruised
heart that is tired of being bitter
brain that is foggy from sleepless nights and false realities
the neurological star scape that erupts inside my head in that moments wipes away every doubt i have
for five minutes, i won’t care

I want to read you,
run my fingers across you
like you are braille and your body is my book.
I do not know you,
but i want to see you, through your skin,
I want to feel your past memories imprinted
on your muscles,
and read them, as i spread your arms apart, like the pages on a well worn book.
I want to sound out the names of the stars,
from behind your back,
whilst running my fingers down the vertabrae of
your spine, counting each one.
I want to feel the creases of your mouth
as you tell me about your day,
and the laughter
and the pain in the creases
in your eyes.
I want to hook my fingers around your ribs,
and read about your heartbeat's
daily news, and stroke the bruises
left there in.
I want to stoke the coals in your *****,
like i am reading a book by the fire,
and i am immersed in you
so badly,
nothing can distract me,
from you.
I want to read you,
with my body,
with my fingertips, and my lips,
and my eyelashes,
and legs,
I want to delve in,
to,
you.
You are the story of my life,
there are the words of my future,
knitted together in the palms of your hands,
in the corners of your smile,
and the pool of your iris.
You are my never-ending book,
I can't wait to open,
sit down and read.

I will not get on my knees
And bow at your feet
Or beg and plead
For you to stay here
And cuddle me in
Like you always did.
I do not need you
Or your voice
Raised against mine
Acting as if you can
sweep me off of my feet
Just to collide with the ground,
Again and again
Using only hands and lips, you
Left marks on my bones and
your scent covering my skin.
Tracing lines down my spine
you read each vertabrae
like your favourite book,
Again and again.
And I have given chances
One, two, and three.
I've since stopped trying to
deny you, and my protests
an attempt to convince you
and myself
that I am strong enough to say no
but it always comes out as
yes, yes, yes.

i.
To the angel of the church in Ephesus,
Write this:
The one who holds the seven stars
In her right hand and
Walks in the midst of the seven gold lampstands
Says this:
Wickedness drips from the fangs
Of faeries.
A mystical hurt wounds
Its way around your spine.
Revel in the snapping of vertabrae.
Suffer for my name.
Repent for me, my lover.

ii.
To the angel of the church in Smyrna,
Write this:
The first and the last,
Who once died but came to life,
Says this:
You are rich in tribulation.
Bathe in the slander
Of those who came before you.
For ten days we will be faithful.

iii.
To the angel of the church in Pergamum,
Write this:
The one with the sharp two-edged sword
Says this:
The throne is yours.
Hold fast to my name.
Let the gold consume.
You martyred me amongst the rest.
Eat the feast sacrificed to the idols
And I will play the ******.
We will wage war with
The sword of my mouth.

iv.
To the angel of the church in Thyatira,
Write this:
The daughter of a goddess,
Whose eyes are like a fiery flame
And whose feet are like polished brass,
Says this:
I am Jezebel.
Condemned for harlotry,
The ***** and I will crawl on ****** knees,
Broken by mens will,
To the city on seven hills.
It is fire we want

v.
To the angel of the church in Sardis,
Write this:
The one who has seven spirits
Of god and
Seven stars
Says this:
We will wear white.
We will walk with our heads held high.
We are worthy of the divine.

vi.
To the angel of the church in Philadelphia,
Write this:
The holy one,
The true,
Who holds the key of David,
Who opens and no one shall close,
Who closes and no one shall open,
Says this:
They will realize I love you
With a bleeding heart.
The altar will drip red and
I will keep you safe
During the trial.

vii.
To the angel of the church in Laodicea,
Write this:
The amen,
The faithful and true witness,
The source of creation,
Says this:
You are neither.
Neither loved nor hated,
But certainly not loved.
Not loved with the inferno of my heart.
I am rich in wretchedness
And you do not realize
You are naked and blind
Like the lamb with seven horns,
Seven eyes.

Who ever has ears ought to hear.
The victor will never
Taste death from my lips.

Empty room filled with silence
Coldness hits every vertabrae
Darkness lingers on the ceiling

Matching spaces in between our ribs
I count the bones in your vertabrae
Its romantic to me and I'm in love
With the feeling of being
Empty

Thumb through each vertabrae
Please
don't startle the moths
Powdered wings express explicitly
the decay of contentment
Each flutter hides a flame with sand
between the nape and dissonance within
Internal fermentation is aroused
by the tumult of emptiness
These spaces swallow matter
aiming to defeat nothing
Stave off synaptic transmission at the precipice of compunction
Illumination met with rosey shades
is it an opposite or reflection?
At the painted canvas of tethered flesh
muscles fail to quiver
There's nothing left but knots
fibers intertwined to climb down
An infinite
drop