12.4.15

‘We hum because we evolved from insects’
but my vibration is a pitch all its’ own. 

-Like the fake tooth that doesn’t glow under blacklight, 

the one he got from a fist that preached teachings of love while drilling in fear as he spit out blood on the rug. 

he didn’t bother wiping his mouth for days. 

he didn’t bother cleaning the stains in the color of rust. 

the bones of his hands are laid like constellations. he sews the points of Ares and Perseus in the skin spanning his knuckles. 

gold blooms from the pinpricks as doves coo on the windowsill. 

its a night where the cold is so crisp, she tastes snowflakes forming on her tongue. frost lacing its fingers in her lungs. 

pulse like hoof beats galloping in her veins. 

she sings a song to calm her trembling but the key is dry and odd in a sky so clear the stars are a swarm. 

glowing flickering moths emerging under the spark of the moon. 

she tries to count them but they’re slick like memories. they slip like feelings that make her want to hold her breath until her vision blurs. so her chest burns.

Clarity hurts.