Hush
My mouth is
barbed wire, and my tongue gets caught up inside
Spitting
out blood and poison
Just to
keep your heart from getting in my mind
We are the
same type darling,
And from
yourself you cannot hide
You Know
There is an art to the unraveling. Like watching a crimson rug unfold down a dark corridor, quickly at first, until the slow stained corners fall flat just beyond your scope of vision. You know where you’re going, and you know how far the walk is. You know the darkness only makes your spine tingle because you don’t know what lies within it. You know hesitation is only human nature, as is the way your head tricks you into believing you can taste the blood that will never wash out of that damn rug. So that’s where you find yourself, staring unblinking into that black corridor. Caught biting empty air between knowing, and trusting that you know. You trusted the rug to roll the exact same way it has before, but not your feet to carry you to the end. There is an art to the unraveling, and a rhythm to your shaky breaths before that first step. Take it, little one, for the darkness is nothing but time.
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