The Runes In My Veins

that hatred in your eyes
it could be carcinogenic
the blank stare of
belief
that
miscommunication
could
make me
insensitive

I am many things
locked within my dead flesh
but if time has shown
one click
followed by the second hand
it hands
hands
hands

me my heart every time
beating and bleeding
the miraculous cold crater
that is my sleeve

I’m done filling in the silence
I can’t take grafts into my lungs
from screaming
screeching
yelling
bludgeoned to death

a dream in which I was
coddled by a meat hook
hung out to dry
under the desert sun
where the vultures
wear the faces of my friends
and the gnawing rats

bear the demanding
familial eyes
my mother when she finds
that my spin is splintering
will realize she’s lost not a son
but the one thing dragging her down