You say things I don’t hear but scream them when I’m not listening.
Blocks made out of wood, black and hurt and stained. Teeth biting gritty glass and your hand is bleeding. Drape over me a furnace of heart.
Giving right hand towards the sun, it and I are held within you. Between sheets of sex and rough, it comes to and blackbirds scream. Pies on windowsills even enough to feed me too.
I came and ate all her capers. I mixed them with nuts. We frosted our eyes and curdled milk for shakes. I gave her an undying amount of seriousness.
I could never cure my illness. It ate at me, and I gave it nurse. I will kiss it when its empty but when its awake I strangle. Believe me when I say it was all with best intentions.
Shaken, firelights and flies, they gather. On the moth stained pond the glass, eager to lap at them, beats my window to it. I crave attention.
You couldn’t mind me when I said let it hurt you. Tigress was not at all pleased and I could tell when she bit me. Bleeding through my shirt, and soaking, beet red in the white, gurgled and coughed my last breath.
I secrete madness and open wounds heal with maggots. I give them my soul to devour, wholly and faithful; akin to a new beginning. I never let it down but never remember. Doing it again and again, I run towards my breathing mouth to kiss her. And we die together in our minds, our eyes set upon loneliness. I am alone here in this metaphor. Can you tell?
