Time's almost up {again..}
Hold your fingers this way, wayward son, and marvel at what thine hands have created.
your Mother and i were slick with sweat as we made you,
you are just like me now, and I am so so very sorry.
I know about the sky, the scratches on the floor. I know about the beauty, how there's so much of it if you really want to see it, and I also know about the dirt, the dirt that we let ourselves become, sometimes. The world will break your heart, if you let it.
I know about the negative space, the not-us, threatens to break like an eggshell, molecules already exploding audibly pop! pop! pop! The static calms, pulling itself into a question shaped like doubt, a word soft and round, but for its briar-like thorns that sting like ethanol on an open wound.The moment cracks open along its crimson fault line, I sing your name into stray pieces of bark, and slip them in the lake, trusting the water to preserve my memory of you and carry it far.
You were always mine, you see, and I belonged to your too sensitive, pale skin
before I ever kissed it, bit it, traced a poem into the loveliness of its naked, undone beauty. I knew what you would become, where you'd go. What dark noise rustled us from sleep and brought us here? O! I promise not to tell a soul, I'll sew the secrets in my throat, rather than upset you anew.
your Mother and i were slick with sweat as we made you,
you are just like me now, and I am so so very sorry.
I know about the sky, the scratches on the floor. I know about the beauty, how there's so much of it if you really want to see it, and I also know about the dirt, the dirt that we let ourselves become, sometimes. The world will break your heart, if you let it.
I know about the negative space, the not-us, threatens to break like an eggshell, molecules already exploding audibly pop! pop! pop! The static calms, pulling itself into a question shaped like doubt, a word soft and round, but for its briar-like thorns that sting like ethanol on an open wound.The moment cracks open along its crimson fault line, I sing your name into stray pieces of bark, and slip them in the lake, trusting the water to preserve my memory of you and carry it far.
You were always mine, you see, and I belonged to your too sensitive, pale skin
before I ever kissed it, bit it, traced a poem into the loveliness of its naked, undone beauty. I knew what you would become, where you'd go. What dark noise rustled us from sleep and brought us here? O! I promise not to tell a soul, I'll sew the secrets in my throat, rather than upset you anew.