I lose my breath for the ways we wept
Carving our chains from the sorrows we claim
I curse my hands as they build my plans
The coffin sized for me that I lovingly heed
Each step towards my death I shriek as I grin
I cannot stop mourning even as I descend
Why do we not cease all this clamor and doubt?
I know what will save me but I grieve anyhow
We built our own tomb-traps but we gild them and stay!
filling the rooms with silver decay
Floating our corpses in gold-blood and gloom
We’re certain this death will not be the last
We’ve died so many times in the past
What Breed am I?
What sovereign eye
Has cursed me not to feel?
Unless I cut myself to bleed these words of grit and death?
Who cursed me not to love unless
I first write of distress?
Somewhere I am weeping, teeth glinting in wailing screams upon the floor
Somewhere my eyes are blinding rage with the justice they restore
Somewhere my jaw is tight and cold and my gaze sweeps frozen by
Somewhere I soften and forgive as someone before me cries
Somewhere I grieve
Somewhere I lose
Somewhere I hesitate and choose
Somewhere I laugh with golden tones that dance in silver song
Somewhere I live, I belong,
Each version of me alive in someone’s mind all along.
Open channel, ink descending
Starlit heavens, wide-eyed searching
My madness burrows in
The screaming fills my skin.
I need to breathe what the star-keeper sees
Or the shadows will corner me in.
The walls are cluttered;
There’s nowhere left to write
Let the ink bleed into your heart
And poison you alive.
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
More happy, healthy
Because the words don’t flow?
I did not intend
To mend distress
Where rhymes cannot reap or sow —
Yet words have not come to me
As softly, as necessary as breath
Since days before the breaking-storm
That scissored my aching chest.