One: Do you write in silence?
I feel it, too,
pounding against my heart,
screaming in my mind,
running, crying, convulsing
until there is nothing left but skin.
We wrap it around the emptiness in our words,
squeezing the life from everything we say until
there is nothing left but growls, moans, and guttural expressions of our pain.
Two: You can’t stand up when the world holds you down.
I tried to do it, too,
struggling,
pushing,
pulling
until there is nowhere left to go but inside.
We lose everything to get rid of nothing, and they wonder why we never leave the house
until the day we die, still screaming to our bones that we’re not ready to say goodbye.
No, always gone,
but never prepared.
to leave.
Three: Do you die in private?
I think about it, too,
releasing the pain,
closing my eyes,
emptying the world
of another reason why
nobody hears us
nobody feels us
nobody sees us
until it’s time to buy flowers or a black dress.
By that time,
hell only
comes in
one form.
Four: Did I hide the porn?
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