1m

Sat, 09/03/2016 - 21:26 -- dogma

I want to bite down, bite down, bite down

"I'm proud of you, you did it on your own."

Bite harder.

She's still trying to suck the air from my lips 

Even though it's almost a year and I still moan her name when I cum 

"I'm so proud of you"

Naked, I wrap myself in sheets, trapped between wind and fire, 

standing on crumbling earth

"I'm so proud of you"

I want to ask him if my smile looks like a grimace

it feels like one

I want to ask him if  I still have blood on my teeth 

Is there still the flesh 

of my last victim?

Do you know 

that you'll be next?

 

The Very First Boy looked me in the eyes and asked where my tail was

I couldnt' find it, I told him 

He smiled and laughed

as he always did

and it sounded years away

"Don't rip your eyes open" 

He said as he touched my forehead, and vanished.

 

Yet that is what I set out to do, on the thre hundredth and sixty-something day

The street was wet and I was barefoot

I swayed as I hummed our humdrum song

cradling a bottle of wine in my stomach 

Periodically crouching to my knees to pray, and for penance, peeling my third eye open

 

I have the scar to this day, which has healed well, thankfully.

Even though I have spread my skin across roads and rocks, I could not see where I was to be headed. 

 

I did not bleed. 

And when I reached no destination in particular, I did not jump. 

I stopped. Turned around. Crawled back to share a bed with a girl who did not love me, 

but loved how much I loved her. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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