go back


this face that i've worn since my tragedy of birth
people call me a lost boy, found in the wrong
dream of the school i used to frequent
dead wights asking me what death means
i tell them that it's married to its counterpart
and they're not all that different

school blades in the toilet, left behind
from when i still felt human
once buried so lazily underground
the urges resurface from a shallow grave
i remember when i used to whine
at the thought of getting my hands dirty

the metallic scent of flooding memories
hind legs shivering in the september breeze
skinned and bear; the stinging pulse
i imagined everyone would tell me
"an easy sight, the body you no longer own"
but i heard nothing besides the sewer water
drowning out their teeth

one by one they all begin to fall again
no one is left to cauterize wounded throats
dripping sweat from the ceiling, the rubble
is telling me to be quiet one last time
and so politely, i'll listen well behaved
and i'll sit back down to wait for it to end