to sell myself on nothing

July 24, 2011

who are you and why do you wear my face?
your adult voice
your twilit eyes, your lost hands
the head that empties itself out
at the bare brush of bones, criticism
leaving its own cut circles on the flesh,
the dark rings around your closed eyes.

you are folded in so close I cannot pry you out
you are wrapped about yourself
so tight I cannot extricate a breath
my hand
my heartbeat in a shallow grave
a cage made for its own insecurities
the winter body, the bird
my lightning eyes
my sleep.

the blueness of light has sapped itself
and my eyes beat, beat against themselves
and we have become dry as a wall
against which all hands become as nothing
in nothing the taste of nothing, nothing
hollow in my broken mouth
my bitter lips
the taste of me
an echo of the storm and the headache
of impending tomorrows
and it never comes
you never come
it never comes

I have broken all my promises
I have lost all my reasons
you are not coming, you will never
come for me

what you have become I do not understand
what you have become I cannot see
folded in upon yourself
so tightly there is no breathing
there is nothing to remove
there is nothing more you can become

maybe hope is more fragile
than it first appears
maybe the glass arms break
under the weight of your somnolent body
your wandering eyes
your dark voice

maybe sleep will return all the answers
return all your calls
drive away the bad things and the good
until it all remains

and all that remains is a small thing
with an adult voice
and eyes that say nothing, nothing, nothing
nothing, nothing, nothing
nothing, nothing

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