Poetry, that's it. Just poetry.

Gilded but not gold
We are eating dinner
and I can feel him looking at me.
I can feel him picking and peeling.
At these things I called bones,
at this flesh I thought burned.


With his eyes glowing red,
like two hollowed out wine glasses.
May I be excused?
May I be humiliated?


When it is time,
when the inner workings,
are finally laid out,
finally laid bare;
quickly, and hurriedly.
So as not to scratch the surface,
So as not to leave a trace.
I will accept your prognosis,
delivered over to me on melted words of gold.
Smelling of roses and chocolate, tasting of acid.
there will be no struggle
on my end.


Because it's no struggle really,
I only ask one thing of you.
That you may forget everything.
Every single word I've ever spoken,
Every single way I've ever moved
Every single look I've ever given you.
Every touch,
every non-touch,
every word, or whisper.
All. Of. It.


Because it is not yours to keep.
Once you leave, you leave for good.

Ship of Theseus
She is no longer.
She hasn't been,
for a while.
But the skin is the same,
for the most part.
The nose, the mouth,
the ears, are the same.
But the way she walks,
is different. Even she
knows this,
and she sometimes wonders
if she should even walk at all.
If it's different now.
But she's very good at rationalizing,
at digging, at justifying,
it's what she does best;
So does she it.
And now,
there is nothing left to do,
but think of Theseus.


Sex
To surrender.
To take control.
To release all inhibition.
To put everything in its place.
To write.
To branch out.
To branch in, and away.
To slide over and steal,
a moment.
For safekeeping.
To joke,
in love's face,
and say, "See?"
I can do it.
I can do it just fine.
I can bend your rules,
and lock you away.
And even though
you always infiltrate
you are still always one step behind.


Like a refuge
When these things happen,
and people turn to dust,
or they wilt, or whatever you may call it.
There are steps.
Precautions one must take.
Step one is to bathe.
Step two is to bundle.
Step three is to isolate.
And step four is different for everyone.
Maybe you re-integrate,
maybe you need more time,
maybe you can't do it by yourself.
So you start over,
or split yourself into two,
so that one of you may hibernate,
and the other may nurse you back to health.
Like a sick and dying dog
who's been taken in by a nun with a heart of gold.
But you must be careful,
because you are not a dog,
and you are not sick, nor dying.
And because a heart cannot be made of gold,
and maybe nuns exist, but because they cannot exist for you.

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