i only know a thing about decomposing:
even my bones keep missing you.
look, i’ve been wearing my loneliness
like second skin, over my blood,
over my bones.
i’ve diagnosed myself a long time ago :
alone until sleep; and then dreaming
of hearts reversing,
of ruination in the most beautiful way possible.
we’ve traded the bullets wrong;
being apart wasn’t even an option –
now it’s the gun. it’s saying the least
just trying to avoid the ache.
i wanted to write about the night when
the hurry to embrace began.
instead, i’m thinking about wolves.
it begins in the same feverish winter :
let me come to you,
let me rest my collarbones against yours.
you can’t make a cage out of yourself anymore.
would you hold your head under the water for me ?
sit tighter. i want to sink my claws into something
alive and beating and turn it into my own.
i know you can survive this.
so, maybe, the loneliness isn’t a bad thing ;
i just got to stitch myself with it
since my skin isn’t enough to keep
the blood from dripping
every time I brush against someone.