Outside the window the moon howls like a wounded beast,
the streetlights glow like exit wounds, why am I attracted
to everything that enters my body like a bullet, tell me
whether I am still something worth fighting for,
A boy with rose-coloured lips and steady hands says something
about the how dark my eyes are when I am staring at him,
and I snap like a violin string, I remember once you called
my sister ‘little princess’ and she pretended to be Bella for days,
I sketch the shape of your face onto a restaurant napkin
and then light it on fire, just to watch you burn straight out
of this life and into the next, the bruised-black sky above me
hollowed-out, he smiles and I remember the night
that we pulled the body from the bay, the waves wetting our feet,
you said ‘turn it in to the police’, I pushed her back down the
boat runway, said something about her parents, we both bathed
in stale light, tell me: is a boy made of salt able to be loved.
Recent Comments