I Don’t Know What To

I can’t name you or call you by your name, at this time. You are streaked against the glass, your guts are spilling out.

Be brave and talk to yourself. You deserve to hear the truth as much as I do. Wait. No.
Let me tell you.

You’ve soiled yourself again like an elderly flower. I came to change you, but you won’t have me anywhere
outside of your bed.

Well my bed is too nervous to have you, so I take my voice back instead of shaming you. Wait. No. Let me hand it to you. She is braver than you.

Have you heard what they call her? Does she even have a name? It doesn’t matter. She is stronger than water and moves like a rock.

I bricked her, I blocked her,
but her head is tilted right to the life-sized bottle of wine at her side. At this time, I can’t call you, or name you, or love you, or hate you.

I answer only to the thin
glass dividing us,
that let’s nothing in.

Cosmos

Lift my head from soft evil;
a black chest I know
to well,

arms that swing sharp blades around my throat.

We meet where day begins,
after black out thick ends…

smoke smothers from my pores –

I remember the Cosmos,
shooting up the stars,
crawling out of his damp position

and lift,
            lift,
                lifting off.

spiders inside me

*WARNING* THIS COULD BE A TRIGGER FOR VICTIMS OF SEXUAL ABUSE/ASSAULT

 

In the morning he crawls across me
pasting me with his skin

his limp tongue travels around the clock

tick….tock

I watch the fan spin my blood to a thick boil
fists tied white
chest tight
open wide…..

spiders crawl in
feeding ammunition
his slow words lock the air
his hard wear
my pulled hair

I’m twisted around this prison
caged in a dark rhythm
until the deep alarm
the heartbeat

his slimy little army marches through deep flesh
he smiles
trying to disarm me

and I watch the fan spin around and around
and wait for the
spiders to crawl out.

Pig Man

My stove top is a scalding
temper; overflowing with
ferocious
boiled steam.

My vision is clouded but
I can still see
egotism dripping out of
his over-sized pores.

Someone gave him the body of
a man to hide in. When we
first kissed, his disguise was concrete, at least.
Now, I can see how heaviness
glazes over him, excreting from
inside out.

He is just a pig, with a
fat, round face and
short,
nothing legs.

He does not know that I know.
But he will.

He will know when stove top steam
becomes serene,

after
I thicken the repulsive cream of
his cowardice,
his fear,
his pretentious stench

and pour
it over his puffed-up
self-admiration, and melt
away his disguise.