You’re living in my stomach

Right in the pit of me

Encumbered

Pounding the walls

Disrupting sleep

Gorging

Feasting veins

Fingers, clawing

Desperation, scraping rib cage-prison

Kindling riots, licking heated discord

Peel my husk

Eat me down to pulp

Pull the ache from my mouth

Lift the shadows out my throat

Your hands, oil spills

My skin, toy-soldier alert

My heart, hummingbird wings

My breath, phantom spasms

My breath, provoked

My breath, exacerbate

Heightened

Unending

Interminate

My mind is a cesspool

I like you

wet and heavy

Last night the stars came

Last night the stars inhaled deep drags of the ash-laden sky

Last night the stars flitted playfully,

pollinating the moon

And the moon wept

melted, sugared gold

And my mouth hung wide

Begging

Praying for celestial fits to rain down my throat

Crying out for phosphorus honey-beams

And as the light dropped from the sky

I waited

Ravenous

Until that first drop

And that first drop

That first drop is hellishly beautiful

Liquid crystals

dripping off a sticky-sweet, molten orb

aglow with brilliant sentience

And I drink it down, hungry

And I drink it down, aching

And I cannot get enough

Until I bleed it dry

Until the sweet turns sour

Until I drain the light into glistening shadows

Into unholy pools of darkness

Until I fill it with desecration

And the aqueous floods are bitter

And they fill me up, briny

No warmth, only distance

And my hands grasp anxious on empty air

Spun-sugar oceans now at a darkened low tide

So I corrupt the sky

And it falls across me, weightless

And woefully I realize

*

The honey-moon’s over

Thoughts between my thighs sparking lightning bolts between my teeth

Plagues of wetness running hot lava floods down my legs

Drowning Noah in his safe-haven ark

Gums bruised, bleeding

Lips boxing-match swollen,

minced, split, broken

Flesh scorched raw with heat,

crawling with vessels burst violet and violent

Ache climbing,

my stairway to hell-cracked spine

Deadly chills curling my toes in phantom spasms of haunting

Muscle and sinew, rotting,

fatigued from exhausted exertion

Buried heavy in dirt-clogged graves

And all the while

my throat bleeds out heavy and piercing

You said you like it when I’m nervous. You said I’m cute with my hands covering my laugh and my fingers twirling my hair. You said you feel less awkward when I glance awkwardly into my own lap. You loved that aching squirm that helped you cover your own insecurities. You hated when you’d inhale a line and I’d sit calm and patient. Indifferent to your flaws. You liked to offer me drinks in front of everyone, knowing full well I’d say no. Knowing full well that everyone would keep offering all night. You liked to make me walk in front of you, stumbling over my steps the way I stumble over the words that fall from me into you. You didn’t want to lead the way, afraid you might be the one to trip. You’d leave me at parties to see how long I’d wait. And lay claim to me in front of large groups so you could tell me later how you didn’t mean it. And the worst would come when my discomfort would leave you vulnerable. I’d spend all night vomiting up delicate caterpillars. And you would take fists and boots to snuff out their prickly lives. And through power hungry fits, you’d confess your secrets late into the night. And as I devoured them, feeding myself into butterflies, your thoughts would become poisoned bile at the realization. And you would beg for me to hand over my safe-haven cocoons. Terrified that I may be more comfortable than you. Terrified that I may be growing while you sat in front of me with your guts on display. So you spin your spider web across my body, wrapped in carefully-crafted blankets of silk. And when I emerged, you burst forth from eggs and laid waste to my thriving. Because you like it when I’m nervous.

I wanted to title this—Because if I knew that your mom was sleeping with everyone or that your girlfriend had cheated or had faked a pregnancy or that your addiction was spiraling out of control and you were scared of losing your kid, then who really had the power?

But that seemed a bit wordy and didn’t even begin to cover it.

They dream

on concrete and cobblestones.

In cold, wet gutters.

With eyes and faces turned skyward.

The reprieve of sleep never coming.

And there’s you,

above them.

Walking on air.

Playing

in stars.

And you smile and you wave,

but never does your hand extend.

Never do you lift them.

They are down there dreaming

with their eyes wide open, yearning.

And you are up high, living with eyes closed.

So you cover them, blindfolded.

If you do not look, then you do not see.

And sometimes, you hear their pleas calling up to you.

But you could never reach your hands that far.

Just tell them keep their heads down.

Their time will come.

And they forget.

They leave you to your pedestal

amidst the burning constellations they yearn for.

But tread lightly—

Don’t let them know that that ceiling is glass.

Your castle, fragile and volatile.

Don’t let them know.

Because if they heard your footsteps

in the stars they shoot for over-head,

they might wake from their dreams.

And if the beast woke,

that ceiling

might break.

Splintered shards of bloodied light, tumbling.

Til it falls in their gutters,

with you in their midst.

Til we’re all on one level

and you crawl

with the insects and rats.

I remember our skin pressed together hot at seventeen. I remember long nights in your basement room. Lazy days in my bed behind a locked door. I remember the sun bringing your freckles out to play and toasting my skin to your favorite shade of me. I remember your fingers creeping inside of me playful on train rides to the city. Your mouth sleepy on my own and your arms pulling me into the cradle of dreams. And I remember waking from the dream in a desperate fever. Dead phone lines. Unanswered letters. Lonely sheets. And bruised love thrown to its knees. The floor its only brace. The snow drifting in as summer disappeared.

Killed in action, I regret being rude, but I was tired that morning. I never was much for being woken up, but who is? Or so I tell myself.

You wanted me back, but I didn’t believe you, couldn’t trust you. Would you, after what you did? Or so I tell myself.

Silent suffering, the bruise under your eye. You said it was from your operation. I should have known better, should have asked. You seemed so happy, but I see now it was only my presence. I couldn’t have known. Or so I tell myself.

Innocent flirting, but you turned my words askew. You brought a safe space into twisted light, feeding off despair to fuel your own ego. To seal the cracks in your ever-fading mask. No wonder they don’t talk to you. How could I have known? Or so I tell myself.

Once again I’ve settled in to do it wrong, but we all settle right? Or so I tell myself.