I'm surrounded.
My skin is closing in.
It's decisions from the end of me
that told me to begin.

I am the saboteur,
the bomb maker, who hides from missing lives,
lying, waiting for a time to strike--
the clock's hand has a knife.

Look for my eyes, they can tell you,
these hands are drawn to wrists,
twist your arm into a choking dance;
you'll come to enjoy this.

Now do it to yourself,
and when that's not enough,
find another,
who will pray for days you seek to prey
on other, newer lovers.

It's a game,
hide then seek, hide the pain
in between your legs,
you bleed for beds
where no one comes again.

You come to need it,
and I will leave myself to hide and seek it.
I will stow it in the depths of you,
and you will learn to feed it.

12/30/2007

Posted on 12/30/2007
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen