out

the earth in its infancy
dry, cracked
solid, sandy desert plain
a circle of withered life
not yet begun.
it reminds you of your own
inner core.
as if the earth's outside
represented your insides
and your outsides
represented the earth's
insides.

you never talked.
perhaps that is what
destroys you
every waking moment
of bated breath you take.
relaxed, your heart raced this morning
and threatened to over count.
your nerves vibrated
making stationary stature
impossible.

some feeling emerge
that tell you to give up.
some tell you to hope
some encourage violence
and others, neutral ground
and even sweet anecdotes.

you persist the unobtainable
in a frail attempt
at a shot in the dark.

he is closed off and arrogant
outgoing and the center of attention
but speak so, "faire face"
and he will anger, deny
a match struck, hundreds of degrees
spewing from painful friction.

so many things in the dark
and any success or improvement
would be futile.

one year to the date,
and many other dates to come
that chill your bones
tremble your jaw
blend and strike your heart.

it will never be over.

the sweet face easily forgiven
now you taste doubt
anger, passion, absolute hatred
and your body elongates and grows
and you stand above her,
towering and screaming
breath so powerful it knocks her down
and you crush every platform she ever
stood upon
and remorse laughs at your pity
and regret
and he doesn't have reason but
he's always there, and he's always
right.

you want to know
every minute detail
of july 11th,
but knowing would mean
the tearing of every skin layer
and every vertical sector
of your body.

he will never speak of anything
you wish to know
no matter how tame,
and it turns skin to sandpaper
that you scratch at
to hurt and be hurt
to peel away
and to scrape up palms.

honey on the tip of your tongue
and it burns the skin that has
gone away.
you use it, pooled
towards "enemies"
and those who do not appreciate
all that you've become.

DO YOU EVEN FUCKING STILL CONTAIN
ANY SLIVER OF CARE OR WONDER
OR THOUGHT FOR ME?

"i don't think i'll kill myself,
not tonight"
are you pussying out?
"i'm finally pierced, they haven't healed"
but they are there.
"my mother would instruct the mortician
to remove them. everyone's last memory
of my face would be of scabbed wounds
and cheap morgue makeup, an attempt
to cover them up"
excuses, you will never have the guts
"i will not let you become a part of me"

outside, you swell and you swell
and you swell
inside you shrink to almost nothing.

not even real words
that escape your mouth
arise, now.
they settle and content themselves
with buzzing around your brain.

it's impossible to speak.