Illustration by Anders Rokkum

V. What The Thunder Said

unreal sound / and scourge of my chest / lick the night sky and cower beneath the trees/ the dresses are all fingernails/ the horns dragging my head beneath the sea/ DA, DA, DA/ the sound repeating in my murky waters / soiled am I/ like battered toy broken glass emotion / short on every kind of luck or / the skill is just something only god is allowed to have / will I ever have it, or am I cursed to sit in the sheets alone / am I chasing something else/ am I lonely / am I the hollow wail / am I the caverns/ am I cancerous, the thing that must be cut out / the showing self doubt is the phantom about my neck, biting into the conversations and the slow, slow, slow / I have marched like a man with gut staples, hurting and pressing the bend of my figure, horrid posture and all / I am cracking my self open on pages / feeling the / DA / the rumbling depths that he did, puppeting a rusty mouth with something else, sputtering about meaning and me/ me and me/ me and her and how I want to pack up a heart and take it with me in a small suitcase, / pick up a person and use them / pick up so gently/ with love/ I think I am addicted to love / addicted to together/ addicted to feeling worthwhile in the eyes of someone / of never being abandoned/ I don’t know how abandonment feels / because I always push them out ever so slightly / first so the hurt doesn’t come / first so I don’t end up in the bath again / first like everything has been easy for me and / I can’t handle the complex emotion of mud / I am beast / I am heart / I am human / I, I, I, am so, so, so lonely/ DA, DA, DA, DA ///and I just / need / something more / with you.


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