i have been walking
between ghosts
of my own halls,
knocking on doors to let out the phantoms
that i've locked up
so high.
i've felt my bones
calcify
under a crescent moon's
smile.
the blood of
a once quivering lip- now rushes
precisely.
purposefully.
in my ear, my god, she whispers the hymns of a
delicate curse
to release
the monsters in the closet
and let them burn.
i am one with the rumble;
a pick-axed
china doll.
i shall not find the pieces i've dropped
but draw new ones in the soddened dirt.
as the rain water grows cold
on my lips,
my teeth threatening to chatter,
i will hear
the hum,
a fire beat
in my lungs,
and never look down.