you're the kind of door
that you pull shut hard,
hand around the wooden edge
and jerked away just before
it closes,
hits the frame,
sneaks back out
and has to be pulled shut once more
(a little more)
by the faded brass knob on the sore
outside.
you can't be locked from the inside.
you're the bite of a rat,
a jealous thief
who walks beneath floorboards
amongst pin-drop forests
and feigns sleep in the must
of smothering sheets.
you're the second bite,
you're the third.
and you're the hollow princess's scream.
you are the fear behind the amber eyes
of every would-be
hero,
you, oh..
you're the gladiator
the cat caged
in an iron
backstage
space.
you're fine filigree
the saving grace
neck-a-lace,
you're the emerald set at its
silent center,
you're the silent clasp.
you're rafters,
you're unexplored.
and by the tender feet of climbing things,
you're vehemently deplored.
you're the expression
on the face of the king,
the melancholy fingers
on the silver-spun string,
the imperfect, sinful silence
threatening his fortress,
you lie heavy around his velvet shoulders
and tie down his feet,
you are his entropic feet.
you echo in his old footsteps.
but you, yourself, are not the king.
you're the sight of a ship sailing east,
the whistle winding wintery through the spokes of wagon wheels rolling west,
the fall to a cold dungeon floor,
the climb back up to the surface,
those dwelling there call you a ghost.
you're not a ghost.
you're the toll of the mourning bell
and the sound of a city waking up.
that's your voice-
it comes with the lack of rain.
you always disappear before the happy ending.
you can't let go of once upon a time.
you're a faulty door
faded wounds
abandoned quests
catwalk dust
aching shoulders.
a city of things
with another below the streets.
all the best things about you
scattered to the sewers.
and i've come to make my home here.
\\\
