violin strings

flesh strung across rigid bones,
plucked, tweaked
and sandpapered
on a bow of pain,
song flows like blood,
dripping with the scent
of a hollow wilderness,
there is no balm
for what must be walked and lived
alone,
like violin strings.

on days like this,
I just want to disappear
from this skin,
to become the breath -
without form,
without colour,
without texture,
without fragrance,
without sound

I want to melt
into the void -
that faraway place
always close,
closing in,
strangling me
with its sinews,
ruthless,
fierce,
yet utterly kind,
like the vessel
that holds everything
and nothing
against its walls,

on days like this,
I must remember
how I came to be here
like this one breath -
forgotten,
misunderstood,
and exquisitely alone.

this is how I walk now, alone

you know,
these hips,
they don't need to squeeze
through doorways
and clothes,
and seats,
anymore;
they kiss the breath
between things
with the feather of their skin;

you know,
these breasts,
they don't need to pout
for selfies,
and hungry mouths,
and group hugs,
anymore;
they singe desire
between the walls of this spine,
with the flames of their fullness;

you know,
these eyes,
they don't need to clamber
through walls,
and masks,
and wraps,
anymore;
they slice the dark void
between you and me,
with the blade of their truth;

you know,
this is how I walk now,
alone.

the scream

something is ripping off this bandage
I've worn
for many years,
perhaps since I was born.

layers peel off
one warp and weft at a time;
I can feel every hair
smart and pull
and singe,
I can feel
every pore that holds them,
being pried open slowly,

and nothing comes out
but this one shot of breath,
sparking the fires
that choke me;
unable to speak,
all I can do is shriek
and fall into that chasm
of dark silence
where there is no skin to hold me,
only the white emptiness
shrieking back at me.