The places we have been, or, more importantly,
the places we haven’t.
They tangle like lovers in my head.
And I,
and I,
and I…

How can I be honest?
I am only half-formed, but fermenting.
My head is Les Innocents,
brimming with enough dead things that the smell
is a sweet one.

Do you see my bones shining,
or the blood running from my toes?

Petty jealousies, I shiver away,
until I stand, shimmering,
Empress of an empty space.

I don’t think
that you know
how sorry I am,
or how hard it was,
but once across the border I was water running
downhill.
An owl, mid-soar across a canyon,
ghosting under the moon’s eye.

Old friend, don’t tell me that you’ll be there,
as obsolete as I was.
Only kiss my hands,
and let go,
all the sadness
and the lies that bind us like unborn twins.

My hatred, as you know,
is absolute.
A guillotine of reason I live to justify.
There was a day when I wanted to break
your fingers,
only to smell my fears on your breath.

Here, I am no more myself
than a summer tree
remembering its nudity.
I do not fear death,
for watching it my entire life.

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