Day 7 of 90
Tonight I remember
the cut of abuse
like a handprint in wet cement.
The cut felt like a deep slice of nothing,
like a quick sharp blade.
I call the scar Fade but
it’s real name is Fate.
His lips know grimace,
His teeth know naked as chain link,
like a dragon bearing fire within.
He’s a small man
with small eyes and small hands
and a small heart of cowardice
and a voice called Demand.
My heart protects him like a keepsake,
all of this pain and distortion is not mine,
the burn in his belly is not his,
the crime that he wrought is not yours
If he goes, I go,
drowning in the river
til the heat in our lungs is doused and
we go out together from
blunt force trauma to the brain
and tumble over the falls of morality
hand in bloodstained hand.
Tonight I will remember you
who plunged the knife into
my chest and left me
Then hopped like a crow,
with opalescent oil slick feathers
and a brown downy underside-
I was bleeding out mesmerized,
rattling and cooing,
black eyes bright like the void
of space and time,
alight with the thrill of Destroy.
Still you peck at my window
with your head cocked like a gun and
playing coy to ask me
time after time,
like a £4 knockoff of Poe’s vintage wine,
Never more, babe.
At least not tonight.
Tonight I address this vessel of mine.
How much £4 Raven wine would it take
to bloat into oblivion,
past the deviant dragons and
wry minded birds to which
this cushion in my thighs has
grown so attached?