The Girl Who Loved Bones

I can’t reach you, it’s as if you fell a thousand miles below the sea. It’s as if I’m drowning here on earth and you breathe aqua.

I can’t reach you. It’s as if the moon were a sun and the sun were a strange planet from another universe.

Can’t reach through the dark.

You left me holding this undressed wound, without a bandage to cover it. I push and push on this skin and I feel nothing. Where the wound is you make tea, clean in silence, attend a party.

Where the wound is I plan a life that makes sense, looks organized.

Where I am alive, there is a void so gaping wide within that the wound seems nonexistent.

We see to our routines, and carry on as if we hadn’t just been attacked by terrorists. Where my arms were I once held love and my chance of survival increased. Where my skull was before the steel melted, I once held happy thoughts of us together, now your stomach is like the remains from Isis where my life is; a hollow wasteland, burned out and detonated.

This is because you ate the bones of my affection, chiseled them with your sharp teeth, crushed my hope like herbs in a mortar, took the pestle to my dreams, made dust from my kisses.

I know I know, how you love your little bones. How you celebrate your skeleton.

I danced one night with your skeleton, you chose a song whose lyrics I couldn’t comprehend.

Later you told me you hate music.

I thought it was fate,
but we were dancing to your hate.

Wake me when the world is over

No one to lay next to me, put your hand on my side and tell me do you think I’m going to die? It feels abnormal, where I hurt, but the ultrasound showed nothing, still I worry over the non-pliableness near my ribcage, that foreigner I love trying to break free from the civil unrest in my chest. Maybe the reason it showed nothing is because the bird perches at the threshold, muted; no soundwaves, nothing to hear anymore but the dark murmur of this  undetectable song.Tell me do you think I’ll live this way always, afraid of what’s inside of me,? The blackness that pours out at night when there’s no one there to hold, no one to affirm normalcy or improve my chance of survival. You can’t migrate anywhere when a tumor swell weighs you down. It’s just about how many vials they need to make sure they are doing the job right in killing you. When it’s all said and done, there will be a giant arch over earth; M for Monsanto; 8 billion served. They won’t go out of business until all the bees are dead and the aliens take over, a world that oozes green radioactivity. Then the bird will sing for all to listen, but it will be too late. A world without honey is uninhabitable to humans. I lay here in bed with this malady in my head, and no one to kiss it better, not one sweet soul on earth out of the billions of lonely travelers, At least there’s always dreamland, wake me when the world is over. I don’t want to die alone.