Set me down,
behind full mountain
tops, make me burn
yellow and purple
hues, while
cold moons take
honesty away.
Turn on false Gods
who paint streets in
neon, let the devil out
to play.
Soak up the sweet aroma
of tonight’s subtle game.
Let it strip you
of your innocent skin…
And let the games begin.
Here I am, spitting the fury dragons out
at you.
Here I am, grating your skin
down to truth, scratching away your faux colour.
Revelations!
I lift your sweat stained sheets, rummage beneath and
cut you off at your ankles. Then, I feel for your knees, and
when I find them
I nail them to the perfect imprint beneath your
clammy body. I move upward, farther upward to your
stomach. I wish you had a womb so that you
could understand the
torture of what I am about to do.
Life lurks inside you, thousands at a time,
all patiently waiting in line for just one chance!
I brought a blow torch for this.
I watch your skin bubble and slowly drip out of
character, down your sides and leak into your sheets.
You still sleep.
You barely flinch, snorting oxygen like a pig.
I move up from your melting pot, straight toward
your chest. Your ribs have been a great protector!
I have grown my sharp tongue out, praying that
it would not come to this.
I have no use for your heart.
I only want your eyes to open and see
me sitting here next to your truth.
Oh God! I am not hollow!!
All this time I have been lacking parts,
I have not. My bones and intestines
and muscles
and heart are curled in stainless steel.
These inside pieces are flexing against metal,
but I have been watching while
little and big hands tick around the clock.
It is morning, my crusty eyes meet the sun.
My hand brings water and poison to
meet my tongue,
then suddenly night grips me and we dim,
in warm embrace we rest.
I am with baggage and a stamp, on my way
to mirror a bride,
or a student,
or just “myself”,
without a key,
or a book,
or a groom.
It is morning and my crusty eyes meet the
birds swimming in last night’s weather.
My hand burns from last night’s torture
and brings poison to my tongue,
then suddenly, night wraps its
pretty, long legs around me and we rest.
Where have I been recently?
Where do I want to go?
To a mirror, without a groom?
To a classroom, without a book?
To my “self”, without a key?
It is morning and my crusty eyes greet me.
My hands sting with reality as I rub last night
out. I have unrestricted bones and muscle,
and poison,
and poison,
and poison.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 