love:
one of the most basic needs.
give a man a warm bed
but no love,
still will he freeze.
Tag: trauma
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don’t you know
my cradle was a coffin,
my beginning
the end?
and don’t you know
my sunrise
was a sunset,
that i was baptized
in the Styx?
don’t you know
the stars winked out
when my heart
began its beating?
and don’t you know
how many bled
to feed the babe
naked, nursing?
a bottle filled
with ruby red—
how many left
drained, bleeding?
so, i ask you:
can a vampire
learn to love?
can i kiss your neck
without sinking
my teeth?
and if you lay your head
on my chest
but hear not a heartbeat,
tell me:
will you run?
please, tell me:
can a vampire love?
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the only true pain
is not feeling at all
sorrow can be bliss
if you’re numb for too long
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I’m not afraid of my fear,
I let it run through me,
a river, the Styx—
it passes, I remain.
that river, a rush.
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sometimes,
love’s flame
is a fire that spills forth
as the sky cracks:
dawn’s light.
sometimes,
love’s flame
is a lamp burned.
its oil:
midnight.
love’s labors:
so oft
in those liminal spaces.
the heart’s torch:
the bravest tea light.
this love:
it is a quiet courage.
it has
no hall of fame.
it is
a gift
with no wrapping.
you feed on it—
you cannot see it.
you live on it—
you cannot feel it.
sometimes,
the truest loves
are unspoken,
& unseen,
but lived:
in the shadows.
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sit with your sorrow:
it can’t hurt you.
you can.
sit with your fear:
it won’t hurt you.
you can.
sit with yourself.
turn your back?
you’ll stab it.
sit with yourself.
the most basic form of respect:
bearing witness.
sit.
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there was a look in your eyes
somehow… dead,
yet more alive
than i thought possible.
it looked like
you stared each of your fears
straight in the eye–
then, snakeskin:
they were shed.
it looked like
all that died
were the bits of you
that kept you from living.
i pray
you’ll keep me around,
if only to teach me how.
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empty arms,
empty heart,
mocked
by the ticking clock:
it tallies
every wasted heartbeat.
my body is stone.
this
is waking sleep paralysis.
some unseen demon
sits upon my chest.
i scream at my limbs:
whose hands
are clasped over their ears?
betrayed by all:
even this
still-alive corpse.
some lives are death
long before the coffin—
some are ash
long before the urn—
this,
this is one of them.
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you mustn’t ever love
something without claws,
you mustn’t ever love
what cannot bite.
a hand that feeds
should be ready
to bleed.
there’s no such thing
as love
that draws no blood.
only shut mouths
do not bite —
only in silence
are edges smoothed.
honesty: it is serrated.
love too.
there is no other way.
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you branded the inside of my heart
can’t shake the feeling
that anyone I let in
sees you there.
your initials scarred,
emblazoned
on my chest.
you softened my heart,
then shaped the clay
with your hands.
into the crucible:
our flame scorched me into ceramic.
then,
you dropped me.
still am i here,
bloodied knees,
picking up the scattered pieces
of myself.
i wear you:
lesions on the brain,
burns on the heart,
scars on my knees.
i wear you.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 