Since then
my blood has gone sour in my veins
and my heart has grown bitter and dark in my chest
like fruits that want not be eaten
I hope that the bite she took from me
grows bitter in her mouth as well
I hope she spits it out
I hope she vomits
and that which was digesting in her
leaves her body
that now she will no longer contain any of it at all
The small wooden box in which I kept a part of her
contains nothing but stale air, and rusty nails
glued to the very surface of the box with the rotten strings of my bitter heart
once those nails held this poor box together
how quickly something can become so close to nothing
would amaze me
if it didn't crush me so into the ground
when I breathe, the nails bite into the left part of my chest
but first I feel it in my arms, my neck, my head
A small wonder
One's body lets them know ahead of time
that they are faster apporaching birth's stolid sibling
nature's other dark child
giving generous seconds to prepare for the possibility of endless nothing
how long can one run on emtpy in a rusty old truck
doesn't surprise me one bit
not too much longer now
Perhaps one day , soon,i hope to fill that box again
In all of creation
there must be a holy substance
which can soothe me
and bring softness and warmth
to ease and forget away the nails within me
Until she coats me in her sweet nectar
and it hardens over the little wooden box
and the edges and points are forgoten
until then
