Mother underarm, his finger above the ashtray.
Tipping point, standstill, jawtight, eyes on her.
Counting your sins and mistakes.
Back and forth. Clenched, doorknob, heat on his skin.
Siblingcall, ancestry, branches breaking in two.
Motherlode, hiding you in wardrobes.
Doing what I feel. Doing what I saw.
Doing what I was taught.
Am I alive?
Am I, in your arms?
Coffee stains, butter knife, stuck, skin, melting.
Sinking into books, fortresses, hair, grip, inhale me.
I surrendered. I broke. I scratched and hollered my way back up.
Spine, pastry, pulverised, sugar on my tongue, fork hunting fingernail.
I sing, your fist on my door, keys in my hand, the hole is mine.
I turn and turn, pirouette, figured myself out, hands off.
I played with the ruins you left me in.
Didn’t I have fun?
Was that the tragedy?
That I started laughing?
That I saw things that you didn’t?
Sullied, back, hips, hair, oh, I just didn’t give a fuck.
Running after me, what is wrong with you,
What were you thinking, knocking, knocking,
I shut you out, shaved my skin, head out of the window.
I became your echo. You saw yourself. Now listen to yourself.
Knock knock, salt, eyeballs, strength on my tongue,
I split you in half in my mouth, listen to me now.
I don’t need you to. I’m not on my knees anymore.
Feet above the underground, pans across the room,
Teeth, off chains and shackles, knuckles in my memory,
Chin high, elbow tight, hair up, stop your ludicrous fantasy.
Croque-Melpomene 