He & I

The motor runs, as do I;

Heart swelling -

Too fat to escape the ever watching eye

Of he,

He who makes my chest thunder.

 

Yet no summer storms fall gently

On these cheeks,

Tendrils reach and squeeze,

No breeze,

But a hurricane too strong to flee.

 

How does he find me? That black hand

Reaches and grips,

Rips at my seams until my lungs,

Admit,

Too easy for he,

The one who unpicks me.

 

“Look.” He cries at my reflection.

I cry,

Tears that taint pale cheeks,

And whisper lies,

“Look.”

 

A hand clutching at my spine,

Tearing white skin

So the storms may break free-

My, what a mess of tissue and bone cradles this mind

Of mine.

 

A head too small,

For he and I.