He’s trying to save you.
He’s trying to reach inside,
trembling fingers catching at the glass
in your heart. He’s trying
to open you up to the light,
to prise apart the cage of your ribs.
Desperate, wanting, he’s
yearning to drag you up
through the flood until you break
against the surface.
There’s a car turned over,
burning, or a bike lying
abandoned and oxidizing in the daylight.
The cold slide of a blade
through skin, or the hangman’s
noose, appropriated for a field of blood.
Your sins burn in your throat
like poison, like something’s
wrong with the way your words taste
in your mouth.
One day of pain and your world seems to crumble,
where everything you knew,
all the gold-armoured thoughts are old tape rewound
until you remember how you received them and now
they don’t have the platinum-gilded shine, or the
same heart-wrenching certainty as before.
You’re not drowning, hanging,
you’re not all cracked-bones,
shattered, unintelligible and bleeding
in the windscreen. But still
he continues his despairing,
last-gasp hope of pinning the loose things
inside you back together,
Like salvation can be
reached through the sharp thread he’s
using to suture your spine.
But is it really light he wants,
the flood trickles through the stitches
in your flesh; you’ll always be wild.
knife-edge and gunmetal,
while his phoenix hands
continue to set themselves on fire.
– Rebirth, Regeneration, Eve A.