next to your house there is a cemetery. next to your house, bodies.
a raven bleeds under wings on your windowsill, hides scarlet beneath feathers.
we are trapped and terrified in flight. here is the omen, you tell me, here is our curse,
or so you say, you are always saying something, huddled over your superstitions,
huddled over your third drink. in your limbs you hold multitudes, in your limbs
everything trembles as you sit still.
there is a world begging you to make war upon it, from the inside out,
or so you tell me. as if enough of it didn’t already burn in your blood.
there is nothing beating in your heart. you are made of bullet holes.
what does that make me? i don’t want to know. i’ll tell you when i know.
something like a gun, something like a weapon, something like a flash and a bang.
i am not from the silver screen and i don’t know how to
hold this evil, twirl it around my finger,
make it nice for you. i don’t know how to hold this shotgun.
why are you still here? i know this is my fault. you wear your pain like a uniform, button yourself up every morning,
but still it sticks to you like skin -
sweating and sleepless. i am sticking to you like skin, unmoving, unbeing,
flesh and bone and you, like the siren with a song stuck in her throat.
next to your house, we walk together, and you are grasping two birds in your fist. forget the bush, forget what equals what. you decided a while ago we were both a good amount of nothing. they’re all yet to disagree.
excuse the lame title,, i couldn't think of one and wanted to post anyway. but i guess it's a bit fitting considering this poem feels quite halloween-y? anyway! thanks for reading <3