by Danny Wakely |
cw: mention of blood and injury.
Introspection for Eighteen
As though attached to me
Still at the hip.
Severed arteries to rip myself from you
And I will keep my heart
Should I keep yours too?
That’s how the world huddled us
Whispered words of protection
Neglect in the faint outlines
To control through fear.
I suppose- I think I should
Play the game as though I could win it
Smile gamely and stab myself through
Chop away each marital finger
Bleed through and refuse
To let anyone else see the pain.
This in itself
I whisper each evening to the mother
That lives boiled in the air
And she nods her curl
Allowing the moon to bless the blade.
I am castrated at the hip and
My mouth is cauterised
To stop the flow of bloody words
Bloody truths that flex and burn against the rigid scar
A man so loud, embittered
An extension of comradery.
There is a lying glint in those eyes and a
Lying glint in your teeth against the moonlight
I would rather bite off my own arm
At the joint of the elbow.
Civility died a graceless death on
The lips of an old fool
You are gritless and without substance
I am without care, without pain
Tramadol tastes like the hole I left in your chest
And the begging of the blank waters
Merged with salt
Ripped pieces of cotton and