Needle’s Eye

When did I become me?

Was I born obsolete?

To what end do I furnish these rooms

they are only closets

keyholes by which my bones are passed.

–

I have such an impossible heart

it goes up like a balloon and at the very apex

crashes with the weight of mountains.

She is discord, she is fruitless

a mother wounding babies

and such a mother is not fit.

–

If only I were outlandish,

substance-less, ornamentation

then it would not hurt so much.

Each breath, an onslaught,

a firing squad, a punishment.

I was not made to last.

–

I hold out until morning

chugging the aurora,

the stars so contentious

in departure

my soul a scintilla,

a needle’s eye view

of memories unbending.

–

I am sick possibly delirious that has nothing to do with the subject of the poem I am just making conversation. I had work today too and a fever the whole time but I am afraid to miss any days in my trial period (my own craziness). Tomorrow or actually today because this will come to you on the 22nd is my 16th anniversary!

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