November 12, 2011
-
30
He said
I didn’t hear
so
I write
instead of think about what he said
Give me substance, matter.
Substance matters to the alive…
Did he say what I meant?
I fear I fear I am so
afraid
choices for me
enough to give up,
end and go back
to shelter in the grave.
You’re attempting to
will me to life,
by tearing off reluctant skins.
I know you yearn to claw open those carefully gated veins
that keep out the dirt, disease, and most painful of all,
desire of this world.
Are your fingers red?
Please, be free to play.
Dip into the clean, glistening wound, touch me
inside.
Will me to life.
Give, and I will surrender
my soul’s bête noire.
