untitled

i am at the mercy of false memory
which always sought to define
and remember
by the attributes of gods

hit so hard

hit myself a bit too hard
i think i saw stars
and among the stars
i think i saw you

the blood clot in my bruises
made me see too much
i need to sleep
just for a while

hit myself a bit too fast
maybe i should have paused
and hit you instead
will you see me in the sky?

waiting for my feast day

i watch you from my still simple pedestal
you have yet to name my feast day
to mark that time when you will
bring me flowers and incense,
when you will light candles of the proper hues
to honor me, to ask for my kind of blessings,
perhaps even to whisper a small favor or two.
meanwhile i eye the darkened corners of this temple,
ever wary of the others who stand still as stone
calm and comfortable in their designated altars,
patiently awaiting your attention,
waiting to fulfill your secret wishes

and i wonder at the extent of my own powers,
how much and how long can i answer your prayers?
so far, your faith has made me start to grow wings,
see the tiny black feathers between my shoulder-blades
(i think they will make me beautiful when they’re fully grown,
maybe you will be drawn to me more often then)
soon maybe i can fly and follow you
and protect you from any harm, cut down those
who would slander you, i with my great wings,
hissing venomously with claws unsheathed,
maybe then i can earn a few more moments of worship.

what i have

what  i have
are torn fragments of prophecies
like broken heart-pieces
that can cut quick
a careless hand

so i advise you
to be very careful
when you brush me away
i have been known
to drink blood

this sacred circle

i pace within this circle
which we have made sacred, somehow,
with intentions we have yet to define 
whether they were cruel or kind

the boundaries we have marked
burn any attempt to wander
i have the scars to prove its constant vigil
and my own stubbornness, unable to stay still

chafing against the rules we have laid down
as i wait for you to carve an opening
since you have taken hold of the ritual knife
easily sliding it from my grip with words almost of love

maybe you thought i might
accidentally slash my wrists, or worse,
i might cut your throat, knowing too well
how i can be caught up by my passions

and now i scrape the holy ground with restless feet
pacing round and round, my lips are sealed 
perhaps paying too dear a price, of silence sworn
for the slightest chance of redemption

this circle of curious love, sometimes too small it chokes,
sometimes too big it drowns me and my dark dreams,
i behave like a  demon trapped, convinced you will be mine.
and you, watching me, convinced that you have tamed me fine.

poison in my hand

you were teaching me
alien Things like
Patience
and Acceptance

for practice you
laid your Heart in my hand
all the while telling me
that it is not mine to keep

i curve my hand in just
the right way, learning 
to cradle your Heart without
interfering with its beat

my fingers stiffen in
unaccustomed restraint,
they long to bend into themselves
sinking nail-teeth deep

into the soft, complacent flesh,
the palm longing to lift
and offer the warm struggling life
into my half-open mouth

already i could almost taste
the sharp tang of your 
Love denied me, searing
as it slid down my throat

and i could almost see the disbelief
in your eyes: didn’t i know
that unless freely given, the Heart secretes
only Poison?

i could almost watch myself in your eyes
swallow mouthfuls, waiting 
for forgiveness
or death

holding breath

i awkwardly showed you this infant love
cupped in my hands
pale and translucent
easy to lose in your shadows
i thought you might want to see proof
that i can survive without breathing you

i think we both know
that i have simply mastered
holding my breath longer each time

rewrite

i traced the sigils you have carved
on the walls you call definitions

the tips of my fingers bled
as the skin rubbed off
trying to rewrite the Story

maybe i can begin

i allowed my love for you to wash over me
images flowed, of wishes beginning to fade
with frayed edges rubbed into dust

maybe i can begin to walk away from you
without stumbling over my own feet

nostalgia

dreams
reconstructed 
made up of bits and pieces
of what i had forgotten

you seep even into my sleep
the scent of your soul
settles upon me
like mist

it begins i

it grows ii

it rages iii

it breaks iv

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