Zodiac

The Fish

The Fish

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Sometimes, a stygian twilight enshrouds the verity of my witness,

And leaves me with a mourning dream that aches in the depths of my psyche.

And sometimes, I breathe needles into my lungs,

And walk naked through a peculiar blizzard, inexhaustible in its hysteria.

And kiss my nightmares in our dripping agony.

•

The granite spirits are firm in their own vessels.

The dolls that collide with me on our way to the river

Do not notice how they shatter my glass limbs,

And grind my crystal heart to powder.

Curious, isn't it?

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

•

I am dust and I am dying. Isn't that what they say?

I am the silence that swims through the roaring crowds.

The forever nothingness amidst the forever somethingness.

•

I wonder if they notice the thick red, crying from my wrists,

Or the purple necklace that adorns the rawness of my throat.

When their hurried eyes flick across my body,

Do they see the white hot anguish that has taken the place of my soul,

Or the savage inferno that turned the sanctuary of my mind

into the unbalanced delirium of hell?

Or the breathy death that slithers over me,

And leaves wraiths on my arms to tell my haunted history?

•

Some nights, I feel like I would do anything to breathe,

And offer myself the cool treasure of waking life.

And some nights, I would do anything to not.

To inhale the somber blackness, and poison my body with the unconscious world.

•

I'm not sorry

That I want to live.

That I want to die.

I'm not.

I won't apologize for my scars or my tears or my smiling silence.

Not when the somebodies are blind and deaf and mute.

Not when my screaming echoes throughout an empty cave.

A lonely abyss.

•

A world vacant of any friendly voices

that might soothe my burns tenderly.

•

Hush now, baby.

Hush.