The Last One

Go back to where you
came from.
Your mothers womb,
the soil of this land,
the purple space.

Go back to the quietness
of nonexistence. Bleed your blood
back to the universe.

Darkness is the acid of things,
your face will melt
in their dark rooms,
you will no longer tell
the metal chair
from a cold coffin,
the knife
from a memory of his sleeping eyes.

Don't let them catch you.
They will pull life
out of your head and back and
knees.
Do it yourself,
in a warm bed.
They will break your peace,
they're good at that,
they're coveting to do it.

Go back to where you came from.
Even if you find
your mothers womb
and the purple space
hollow and empty.