my eyes have shattered
proper
at the sound of neon screams.
steel bones
bend beneath the weight
of your birdsong dishonesty
that pounds, pounds, pounds
until everything is as flat
as the smile I fake
when you ask if I’m alright,
and as dead as the love we make,
when, for my sake, you shiver
like lifeless dry leaves
caught in the breath of an angry sky,
where the only in-flight birds
are as black as a lawyer's conscience,
and searching
for a tender heart to devour.
I cower at the thought
of the exhaust fumes trapped in my guts
by the bullshit you stuffed
in my smokestack head;
enough to kill the population
of a tiny island nation, and leave
nothing but a piece of coal float-
ing where there was once manic life.
I’m a broken rifle in the mouth
of a suicidal god,
too outdated to be remembered,
too beastlike to be adored
by a horde of sunshiny backstabbers like us.
that god & I must learn to die
alone gracefully.
here’s fare for the bus.
may it explode halfway
to your house,
and send up incendiary shards
of bone and steel
that will cut through my
roof and impale me.
then, maybe, we can
begin to forgive
one another.
maybe.