that aches like earth-old strength,
I know well (oh, too well)-
and now I know that when I lay
face-down-in-the-dirt I become
an unholy altar for sacrifices kept secret.
(Whip me senseless,
flay the skin-and-muscle
from my stone-bones to
reveal this truth:
inside I am a
hollow stone tower
built to honour things ancient and forgotten.)
There is a dragon trapped and writhing
in the cage of my ribs
and she breathes endless
fire into my lungs;
she fights endless battles
over my heart;
she tears through what
might have been an
otherwise-functioning thoracic cavity
and lays her eggs against
There is a dragon trapped in the cage of my ribs,
and she wants warbloodsexrevengeisbestservedhot.
There is a glacier in my mind;
it came upon me so very slowly that
I cannot say when or where it came from,
or if it has been here all along.
It keeps my ribcage-dragon angry and trapped,
it keeps my thoughts cold and my intentions
Hidden behind flesh and blood and bone and
grey matter is a simple and disturbing truth:
endless ice cares not for your existence or
your affection, dearheart,
and neither do I.
There is a glass lake hidden deep
in the twisted folds of my intestines,
and it is companion to the glacier in my mind;
only it is a graveyard of things I have
had to bury alive, or lose myself.
There is not a moment in passing
during which I am not aware of its cold surface:
an unforgiving, diamond-hard glacier-cold
knot in the core of my being
where only dark and silence and solace
I am afraid that I have
destroyed my future
as I bury my past.
There is red ink in my veins
that is the stuff of dreams
both dark and beautiful.
I am at my most alive and most
when I lose myself to
There is a stranger where my mouth should be,
and she talkstalkstalks too much, too much-
she spills secrets where they should not be,
flirts with fate and death and love and hate
and leaves me with the aftershocks of
pain and betrayal.
I would like it if she would kindly
(slowly, painfully, for the things she has
done to me)
or take over completely.
There is a library in my eyes,
which is the simplest and most
complicated reason for why I
never look back
when you try to catch my gaze.
These are the things that tragedies and contradictions are made of,
and these are the things that both create who I am and destroy who
I could be,
back and forth and back and forth again.
There is a dragon in my ribcage and a glacier in my mind,
which makes my throat a warzone,