“Not a Second”

There was Shakespeare on his tongue,

and a butterfly in his lungs.

Both made his dangerous.

Both rendered him unloved.

He was afraid

of what to say,

of what to feel.

It all got stuck in his throat,

a clump of paper and honey.

Nothing was easier to swallow.

Innocence was one thing,

but courage was another.

To pick up the sword,

to shout into the abyss.

He was new to living,

but he didn’t want to waste it.

The hilt was supple in his palm,

so were the words to that song.

The one in the back of his beautiful mind.

“Combat of Trust”

My ear was pressed,

against your chest.

I heard a war,

not of hearts,

but of the great and terrible blade,

pain.

You,

scar-bearer,

my only price.

I saw your strength,

waning.

So I gave you some of mine.

My favorite sword,

in the palm of your hand.

Did I turn into a monster?

Are you my knight,

here to slay?

What would happen,

I wonder,

if I was already gone?

“Manifesto”

She crumbling in places,

too modest to lower her collar.

Not a nun,

named after a dead relative.

Paint-splattered and weeping instead.

In the downstairs bathroom,

she’s Roxanne.

Roxy,

to the bartender,

and Rox to the milkman.

In Disaster,

she’s just another pretty face.

She can’t afford a canvas,

so she uses herself.

Waste not,

want not.

She refuses to turn the light off.

There are goblins downstairs,

and bottles under the bed.

Life’s never like that,

her real name is Mary.

“Grain of Perception”

There she stands,

a pillar of salt,

an obelisk.

Her lungs were taken from her,

because she looked back.

She with her eyes like desert pearls,

now covered in sand.

How dare you,

dripping ink on her canvas like she is something to be written. There is no story here.

No one wins the battle and the war does not exist. It is only her, standing there forever because she dared.

And when the night finally falls, tears drip from fingertips,

only you do not get to be the one to wipe them away.