smoke that he fights with, i can go nowhere without seeing him.

pests and predators survive. 

i was too old when i finally learned that you do not read the police report, only the headline, or else your trauma will remember itself.

i spin a single story you cannot escape from; you bring me joy, i bring you blight. 

you taste of sunrise, ochre, violet, orange, a lancing of the monochrome with flush and heat and sex.

i feel like coal, layers of dead things condensed into fuel. 

between old shadows and new light i am only kindling.
there are pine cones that cannot sprout without the razing of a forest fire to crack the seams; where the deadwood of me burns off, perhaps i will be newer, brighter, stronger.




**



smoke that he fights with, i can go nowhere without seeing him.

pests and predators survive. 

i was too old when i finally learned that you do not read the police report, only the headline, or else the trauma takes you too.

i lie here with my hardened heart and ruined mind, waiting to make you the culprit for my own misdeeds.

spinning a single story you cannot escape from, you bring me joy, i bring you blight. 

you taste of sunlight, ochre, orange, violet, a lancing of the monochrome with flush and heat and bile.

i feel like coal, layers of dead things condensed into fuel. 

between his shadows and your light i am only kindling, waiting to be pulled up into the bright destruction of my truest sense of self. and whether it is his burning or your sunshine that arrives first is anyone's guess.