the space above my ears.

Take a Breath. Start Over.

Peel back the petals, love.

Look into your core and acknowledge the broken glass, the dried blood staining the white paint.

Shake the river water out of your ears.

Put your hair up and clean out the kitchen of your heart.

Forget about the handprints in the ashtrays.

Wipe down all the windows.

Forget the way we used to write to each other in the frost.

The foggy vision through the wall.

The stained glass scorpions lining the path up to the front door.

The chapped lips and warm hands.

Forget it all.

I'll drink up the past from your spinal fluid and use what's left to scrub out the sink.

When I'm done, I'll place your bones in the garbage disposal and listen to the sound of rebirth with half a smile on my face.

This is a new chapter.

This is the beginning of the rest of it.

Call it what you wish, but I believe it to be divinity.

Keep your ears open for the coma patient.

Never stop listening, not when the sky falls and not when everything you eat tastes like ash.

Especially not when your feet get cold and your shoulders begin to shake.

This is the day of judgement.

When you will finally have to face the question, "do I deserve it?"

And now, you're remembering all the lost nights.

All the games of spin-the-bottle you played with the devil, locking lips with him in a hundred different bodies.

There's a sickening heat growing in your chest because you see now that it is remorse that will crucify you forever, not sin.

And you know that behind all the rib-shattering laughter, there is a void of guilt.

Maybe judgement day does not matter.

Maybe it all becomes fickle because we are already in the cursed part of the underworld.

We have hurt ourselves so much that the fire no longer burns.

It is home.

Among the flames.

Outside the smoke shop on main.

Behind the dumpsters in an alleyway.

These are the places we hide our hurt.

These are the places we run to when all the roads have dead ends.

These are the museums of human heartbreak.