Stuck Between

There is a space between people.

A layer of something that makes someone “else” and someone “me.”

They think They can bridge the gap,

by lining people up tightly, side by side,

With rows of loving lips pulled together,

Layers of roots growing from the scalp,

Piles of new born baby’s skin,

and clothes of long since dead spouses.

They think They can share feelings,

cold empty nights and dried out tears,

running down our bodies,

filling up cracks and chasms.

They stand against the gap,

Squeezing together in a theatre,

sweat beading up on the skin

arms and feet pressed into a stranger’s

Hoping

for just a hot mingling breath in the same space.

Hoping

For something like

Sex. Love. Marriage.

But it’s

Bullshit, all of it.

They are faking it.

Begging

To taste something that isn’t as empty as eulogies

for brothers who twist the blade in your back,

as fragile as paper thin wings stripping under the rain,

as ambitious as wax melting in the sun.

They just can’t help but suffer

like dogs,

teeth dragged out of the gum by rotten men

They pretend like each person has warmth inside of them

but They don’t.

Blades are coated in their parent’s blood,

Heat curdles their flesh

and engraves what is left of the bone

Maggots are swimming in their children’s veins;

gnawing away

They have the gap

Where They squirm under a colossal Thumb,

Unable to find themselves.

They can Scream

Bleed

Cry

Nothing reaches out in the agony

And it doesn’t soothe

Doesn’t calm

Doesn’t make it all go away.

Watch

Them now

Squeezing together in that theatre

Being crushed under that Thumb

Smashing against the warmth

And giving birth to the rotting

They

get caught in the rain

They

melt under the sun.

They

Not me.