Shallow

okay, they said, and she was
made of iron and glass. but that didn’t really matter;
they just wanted her soul.

sit, they said, and they pressed dirty hands
to her cheeks; her blush was darker
than their hearts.

quiet, they said, and they kissed her nose,
and she giggled (she couldn’t help it)
but they released the butterflies.

capture them, they said, dead and broken.

the butterflies were demons in disguise and she
wrapped her fingers through her hair as they
brushed against her skin.

enough, she said, and it wasn’t speaking, it was
screaming.

enough, they said, and pressed the
dead butterflies to her mouth, and when she had
nibbled the dust off every one,
they smiled at her.

just wait, they said, and when their hands
were wrapped around her throat,
she remembered to scream.

quiet, they said. quiet quiet quiet shhh.

and when she was decayed and dead
they took her and threw her in the bedroom
on a bed of glass and roses.

and when she was rotten,
her mouth was sewn shut and her eyes were glued open
and the monsters lurked under the bed
waiting to devour her blood.

i love you, they said, and
they dug their fingers into her heart.

every hours wounds.
the last one kills.
the minutes away from
everything.

clocks bursting into reality,
ticking insistently.

every
hour
wounds.

you’re gone and i
know where.

i’m sorry you went missing
and i’m sorry i can’t find you.

i throw flowers on
your new home.

the only gretting i get anymore
is the cold stne hello
you hate to give.

every
hour
wounds.

pulling the flesh from
your shoulders, i pause.

are you an angel,
a demon?
the wings were buried too
deep to see.

your beautiful broken eyes
closed with almost-hurt.
you looked back at me
and said

baby, i have walked
across the stars.
the pale velvet of your skin,
the hungry insistence of love.

you cupped my mouth closed;
baby, you said,
i am more human than a lie,
than a kiss.

trashed, i found your eyes;
glittering, aching.

your mouth, angry with need,
calling out for a heart
you left on the shores of hate.

mirrors & glass,
you lick my wrist &
tell me that it’s okay,
it’s really okay.

i love you, you say,
and the shimmering razorblades
of your teeth
are enough to convince me.

i wander through the meadow
where i fell in love
to find it never existed.