it has all fallen apart


last night in a last ditch attempt to save myself and save my happiness and the little cradle that had formed i tried to talk to jesus if he was real and i layed down in bed face down with my eyes shut and a heavy weight on them and i put my hands over my heart and tried to ask for my cradle to be saved and for it to be nurtured and warm and for help. i begged and pleaded for the worthiness of comfort, and tried to speak with any sort of faith. i tried to connect to the angels. i tried to see myself as something able to be cradled. i asked for my cralde to be saved. and today when i awoke it was smashed and my little body was found there all fleshy and oozing and gushing and squishing between the small frail dark chocolate wood, and the delicate and torn blankets. and the white new fat and blood all turned cold and white hot in place, and my little body became newly dead forever.

an old friend who drew me as a black cat re-appeared into my life flavored peach jam and matcha milk bread, and sunlight appeared inside my computer, and it reminded me, that i am without sin, because i am punished forever. i say: the torture is everlasting inside me, and those years in the dirt dead in my grave will be the body i grow into. and you may be born from wood and a cross, from warm milk and skin, born from purple skies and pavement on your feet and palms, but i am born from rug tufts red with myself, clotted with spit and everything im throwing up. every day i prayed for someone to save me, everyday i prayed and prayed and prayed and i climbed on every wall and all the chairs to try and grasp my angel's hands to get them to cling to me, to lift me into death, but no one ever held me, and no one ever touched my hands, and then i know i am made of mausoleum dust and worthless lace dead and veiny, that i am made of ginkgo and violence, and i taste like how putrefaction blood looks like black cherries. i taste like heads crushed and bodies tumbling. i taste like rug burn, and you burn your tongue on me. and i burn myself in the water, and sink my body until it peels off. i let my body fill up with water, and wash all out of me. holy water inside all my organs, so warm it dissolved all my stitches, and my entire body falls apart inside the bathtub, and you tell me it won't hurt when you touch me, and then it does.

i begged into the carpet of my floor and dug my nails inside, and screamed out for help from my angels, help from the pain, that feels like a searing white hot angel muscle aching to be born, like it needs to be cut from my ribs. i was made without any body. i was made without any soul. i am left behind in this house, letting my blankets decay and crucify my body, until i am steeped in this pain. was not born of anything, i am a grave, an empty entrance in the earth, i am under the mist and fog that you cannot touch over that dark dirt. i am the empty part where the dirt once was. i am what was laying there, until just last night. i am the warm spot where there was something laying.

i have begged over and over again, to be made of warmth and milk and skin like everyone else, to touch my skin and taste salt, but instead all you get is dirt and dark thunder coffee spills, all over me. and the feeling of beating your fists against wood panels, floor, and the eternity endless push of the ground up into you. taste curtains and ginger, and how your teeth fall out and the nerves all stretch endlessly through your skull, and i kiss and suckle at them. and my eyes are wide and dark and you see what i've seen, and so you push my face down into the mattress and couch cushions.

i don't ask am i not enough? never ask that. i am what i am. i am born undead dirt, and they put me back together, and now i am suffering, and that is me. and is that beautiful? it is enough to be inside of, and it is enough to touch and hold. but not for too long. cool holy water, my body is spilling out of your arms. and it is enough to talk to, and it is enough to carry. i bear the mark upon me, and the feel it carved and sewn deep, and that's where the angel muscle is, that screams and thrashes inside me. all my nails chip and break, and then they smooth out. i wear a thousand rosaries around my body, i wrap myself in every leaf, i wear my skin bare, i take off my muscles and let there be darkness in that dirt in the ground. i curl inside ceramic coffee cups. i bite down on milk and my teeth clink on the glass. i rub my lips with the smooth underside of my forearm, and i string the tendons on the clothingline.

proverbs 4:23
above all else guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.

it will never matter, mine is sore and raw, and full of maggots, eaten through and molested, twisted up and full of ashtray smacks across the mouth. it all falls off my face, i watch it glisten on my stomach and chest, and he puts his hands gently down and holds me, puts my clothes back on and i am a new doll.
i prayed and prayed and begged god to make me a virgin again. all i wanted was to be a virgin again. i shoved my sobbing face into the fur and screamed and fought it alone. i spit and cry and bite my mouth, i touch the heart and my skin touched with dirt. i struggle against my muzzle, i struggle against the fingers against my teeth when they push my mouth open.

it doesn't mean a thing to place a hand on my back while i am curled up, struggling against my loose sutures. but when you gently push your fingers down my spine, kiss at the small of my back and push your fingers and unfold me, slowly while i bite with nothing, while my lips feel at your face and beg with frothing spit and tears to not touch me, to not see me, to push me back into the dirt. and he puts his fingers in the soft warm spot underneath the surgical wire, and feels and kisses it, pushes it back together, rubs his face and nose against mine. and then i uncurl, and let myself spill out. body splayed and weak, and he just holds me, he just holds me, carries me and cradles me. why. why god, do you show me tenderness, show me gentle affection, forgiveness, and why did he cherish me. i said to you, i said. i said upon my sternum, please don't tear it away, don't tear it away, i am a dog left in that cage, and i thrash and thrash, don't give me your sweet hand, stroke my face, i do not bite or scratch. i lay belly up, where its all rotten and eaten away, empty cavern inside me. i don't make any fuss, and you say these sweet things to me, and you pray for me and clean me up and clean up my cage and adorn my grave and dead body with flowers and an umbrella. but in the end, he is not coming. and in the end, what am i? a lamb.