Do you have any idea what it is to feel these words?

To claw them out of me, snapped and bleeding, in an attempt to feel less? In a desperate hope

to end this scattered wretched lonely


Do you know what it is

To feel the words come slicing through

To actually feel the cinders in you

And to be wary of their power?
What you read from me is not merely pretty sashaying sounds strung together to twirl their syllables through the night

My words are a fight

And they shriek from within

Desperate to touch the far-flung sides of endless light

Desirous of all that is more 

Than the tattered words I have 

Clicking and stabbing and clanking and rolling and twitching around



It is nigh on impossible

To creep about at night, desperately trying not to wake your parents, when you are wearing four dog tags 

Chained about your neck like a claim to life

And three of them are entirely unnecessary, and you are wishing fervently that you had not wistfully clasped them on earlier that day;

But it is far too late and too quiet now to remove them, and so you walk like a swaying tree

Leaned back, tilted crazily

Trying to keep the jangly bits of metal pinned to your chest,

Silenced by their imprisonment against cotton t-shirt,



Wishing — ever so fervently that the tiny beast that guards your parents’ room will not launch into a fit of yowling at the sound of your 



about in the hall. 

(Go to sleep now, you tell yourself! No more poetry — the night is sick of you!)