This language is to battle with. Burn the words and
watch
the heat creep, decay like this claw that
sometimes
takes hold of my heart. I have not lost my dark
now I wish I had. Because he was big
and they knew he was slow. A silhouette of
forgiveness; put it
on your résumé like any other kid. The pieces of
us scatter and I hate
everything in myself that reminds me of her. A bag
or maybe a bird, caught
in the branches. Those centers. So many
centers. So many of you.
Burn the forgiveness, a shallow grave for so many
words. I have not lost
my dark that reminds me, like any other kid, I
hate
this claw that sometimes takes hold of my heart.
