and if I could reach my fingers,
i’d lick below the nails to suck out the poison
someone planted
in a slight, sadistic plan
to make me see a bit more clearly
through the fog I’m breathing now.
and through the walls, we’d see the city;
laugh about how bright and beautiful
it is, while comparing it
to something a little less aesthetic,
just so it won’t lose its majesty.
and around us the walls will crumble
to bits of plaster and shreddible, edible easter grass
like the smiles we never could muster.
the walls will melt and turn to molten
as the fluid ghosts of all the men I’ve ever needed
flood in and surround us in their warmth
and in their smell.
they’ll bend my back and expose my neck
like an infiltration in the infantry guarding
my blood, and pick them off
with hammers, nails, and steel
one by one by one.
and the floor will open up
to suck me through and make me
just a few more fibers in the woodwork;
make me hum and dance with the heartbeat
of the house that we created
with our bone.
and the sky will drop from heavenly heights
to shroud me, make me lovely,
in the miles throughout the darkness
with the stars about my hair like crowning jewels.
just to prove me guilty, just to deem me sane.
they’ll drop the souls that I commended
into laboring to mend
the hearts that I have broken
and the skin I’ve yet to rend
upon my back to claw me, Jesus,
shaking, trembling, insane.
they’ll shatter me, break me humble,
make me crumble like the walls
and they’ll tear me ‘til the stars ring out
until I’m ugly, ugly, ugly,
until I’ll never see beauty again.
and when the woodwork dissolves in the flood
the one i didn’t mean to send
and the servants head’s drop under
waves of ice and photons firing
in their irises and retinas
in the lenses of their glasses
making universal pictures
to unite under the sea
in all their glory, glory, glory
pure horror beauty just for me.
