spills

Just go backward, just go.
Living fast and spilling
all over this place.
The life that couldn’t be touched.
Instant grace that came as it took.
Just hop for love,
and weather them like storms.
Ever rising, into poses
crafted with cracking limbs.
Flashback eyes that
everyone seems to know.
He’s your conscience
and you let him go, go, go.
And there’s always some
to sink those teeth in,
yet he’s the only one
who had a taste.
But he can’t float up here,
he can’t fool you now.
I’ve cultivated the mask
and he just wants to destroy it.
In writing this, it seems that I’ve
lost my left hand,
cut with gnawed bone.
And I ask myself,
if I’d done it.