Promise of Man
He dismisses my skin, felled by the knife.
The simple foe an unwitting ally invading the warmth of me,
a tongue as sharp as his which invades the mouth of violence.
The intimacy’s a parasitic guest that he hosts in the crowded hall of his ribs.
His lungs sigh from the pressure.
His heart beats a frantic rhythm.
My Blood spills like water.
He makes good to break the dam of flesh,
and fulfill the promise of Death.
He savors the unforgiving Crimson holding the essence of me, of him,
everything we could be,
but nothing beyond our reach.
It is bold and undeniable in the sun. It winks back at the sky.
And once I leave, you’ll notice something is missing.
You’ll wake up earlier than usual as the sun makes its way across the earth and pulls a string of your heart with it.
And when the moon follows suit,
when your heart has unraveled,
a longing will fill you to burst.
And I wish you that numbing moonlight.
I wish you the empty whispers of the dark.
I wish you the cold hand of the wind ushering you back to the house
after a fruitless search
for something I stole when I left.
Spring Beneath The Ribs
The softness awakens in your chest
A bloom after a season of unrest
You gathered up what was left
And pushed it down into the soil of your heart
Its a choked muscle pumping spoiled blood
Coupled with a hard head that knows when enough is enough
But there’s just no trust
in what your body’s truly made of
No home to house your loneliness
No lover to guide a pitying kiss
Upon that sunken, sully cheek
Just an awkward bloom of gentleness
A cowardice spell of forgiveness
No more hate to quell
No more love to spill
Just a dying muscle, and a caving chest
Nothing else to do, but gather up what’s left
And seed it down within
And pray for another start
lost my mind
I am the body
of a severed head
A divine vessel
the core of the apple
caving into itself
To understand myself
I know not the feeling
only the head rolling
the soft rumble leading
my blind footing
I am a severed body wilting
a dying impression of what was
before the decapitation
Slim evidence of intimacy
between a mind and a beating heart
The Final Meal
In haste, you cut me limb by limb
and fed me through your small door,
my voice no more than a squeak from its hinge,
no louder than the carpet’s hiss from the force.
You eat the parts of me that your bed won’t hold
that slip off your sheets and paint blood into the folds.
It turns your stomach,
the broad strokes of red,
Because I’m a bigger beast
than you imagined in your head.
You had exercised the knife,
why retreat as I bleed?
Somehow, I fear you less than you fear me.
Ride the midnight waves.
Wait for a twitch in the dark,
a haunting reoccurrence of the moment you pounced
and forced my being to arch.
I failed beneath you
yet you await my return
to feast upon your brains whilst sheltered by the night’s hue
despite my being laid to waste,
dismembered and outgrown for your tiny bedroom.
Self Love
When the wind fails you, where will you go?
When the ocean sends you back to shore, how will you fare?
When the earth rejects you, spits you back up to the surface,
What will you become?
There must be refuge to find in the white walls of your bones.
There must be warmth to claim in that quiet stream of your blood.
Who else will marry your sullied heart after its affair with the darkness?
Who else can appreciate the marring of your soul?
In the end, there is no one to lick that pulsing wound in your chest,
No one to care for it but yourself.
Must Be Love
She steals away into the darkness once the heart has reached its peak. Racing in the pale gleam, her shadow trails her, following her past footing until her true body finds me. I’m unsure if words are ever spoken once our beings meet. The white heart above us drives our attention. We sit upon silky grass, surrounded by buzzing nuisances while the night’s organ bleeds into us. Its blood is brilliant—perhaps lurid to some— and seeks our bones through the corridors of our pores. Her skeleton cannot deny it any more than mine, recognizing the organ as the muscle within us. We soak quietly in its coolness, just as we do in the burning warmth of the sun.
We gleam back at the fullness above us, seeking the chambers beneath the surface, hoping the core of ourselves will fuse together.
She turns to me with her paling eyes whispering, “this, too, must be love.” And I nod gently, my eyes faded similarly.
Raw Consumption
There's your beginning, your end,
and here’s your middle
spilled onto the road and
painting the vehicle of fate as
it drags you cross country,
trailing itself with your blood against the wheels.
Here’s your middle,
your flesh tongued and chewed in my mouth.
I suffer through the heady and needy
absorption of one soul into another,
the raw consumption of your worth into my own.
And later, you’ll appear in the wounds I achieve.
Moonlight
you crawl into the mouth of the full moon
it’s light tongues you softly
and you feel it’s presence
a looming entity waiting
to swallow you whole
others would be frightened
but you’re forever planted
in a nonchalant resolve
that sucks you into the sand
underneath the cool light
so fresh and tasteless
like a glass of water
your mouth opens and
you tongue the light gently
you’re eager to swallow it whole