organs trapped mid-pulsation
but truth radiates beyond obstacles,
overcoming inconceivable odds,
and makes its resting place at your side
no matter what logic claims,
science has no power over this
foreign force, this magnetism
darling, though our hearts are scarcely beating
we continue drowning in gravity-defying love
you don’t know my name anymore
sometimes it streams through you
while you are asleep and you wake in
the night with it clogging you throat,
but it’s pressed out soundlessly,
stifled in mouthed syllables so
maybe it will appear that you
never even knew me
somehow you feel my presence
lurking in your bones
though you claim that I forced entry
with pleas for understanding and
too-lonely utterings you couldn’t
ignore; you paint yourself as a
kind soul, sensitive to need and
deeper than the rest of us
but do you mention that our
fabricated friendship is nothing
more than a poison meant to
disintegrate cells until you
shine through my translucence?
do your adoring fans know that
behind every seemingly selfless action
and promise of gems donated to my
endearingly pitiful cause, you
spike my sky with ugly amber so
it will assuredly crush me?
and every supposed gem is
less than dimestore quality,
lusterless and hiding
pardon me if I don’t want to
endure this charade any longer
I was on the front porch, watching
the snow angel
take shape when she asked me. The truth is,
I got used
to it a long time ago, but her eyes made
me forget everything, or, in
sincerity, made me want to
than I wanted to. But all I
could think, was that you should be the one
explaining that snow angels cannot
weep in January or
February, but only with the coming
of a warm
March wind would they fade into
shapeless puddles, sinking further
ground, until their wings
gave up on ever touching a
is it too much to ask for me to be enough for you?
just once, I’d like to prove myself.
just once, I’d like you to admit I’m right.
you know I am made of hastily-finished spider webs and autumn rain; without any prompting at all, I am able to destroy myself. my ribcage folds into itself like paper trapped in the eye of a hurricane and your screams cannot reach me over the thunder and waves.
but even if they could, they wouldn’t save me.
if I could pull back the fog and read your lips,
they would be condemning me, silently agreeing
with everything I’ve claimed all along.
your lips would be painting syllables into a crown
made of silver and fond hallucinations.
would it be worth it, really, to discover that your kingdom and paradise are just as feeble as the wreckage you leave me in when you’re done with me?
if I could, I would cloak myself with the night and smuggle myself to a place where I could finally hear you with perfect clarity and honesty, something I ask for but only receive in small lethal doses.
I am the steady breathing behind your door, love.
as you confess that I meant nothing after all, that
you only built me up just to watch me crumble in the end,
I will be shifting in my skin and tightening my throat and
remembering every single word.
and when you finally crawl into bed and snuff out the light, I will remain, trying to decode your heart’s beat and complete the puzzle you began with the words “you don’t measure up in my eyes.”
even if my pencil breaks and the oxygen in my lungs
turns to lead and pins me down at this crime scene,
I could never forget the way you turned me against myself
with that deceptive laughter and those too-deep eyes
you said, “let the rain pour.”
the rising curtain;
the swells of
the world of
and my heart: