Swamp breath. What fills my lungs
— muddied mouths, drooling strands of yearning for the floor left behind,
Chafing as things try to move: don’t leave me, don’t leave me.
I cannot move forward. My limbs have grown too weak for wading.
Knee deep and I think: in quicksand
One just has to stop moving. I give myself up to it and drowned inside
Out. I am aware, this is no quicksand: hundreds of hands,
With even tinier hands for fingernails raced to escape each other.
They grab me like I am a rock wall to scale
— my lips, the pink flesh of my eyelid, and my skin blooms a
Purple field, flourishing with the weight of stage lights swaying,
Hooked up on my skin, pulling the canvass
Down. My face is melting.
Through to the other side, I have stumbled into foreign land.
They, faceless and paranoid, took me to the banquet with the
Wooden sprawl of long tables. They pulled out the chair:
Not for you. To the table I went. Incessant
Water boarding. I claim that I really do not know
Anything. And I damn everyone before me
Who knew something but stuck their hands
Down my throat and pulled out my words. Their magic trick: look
The red ribbon from the empty hat. The applause drowned
Out the retching, a cry from a place deep inside my mouth open wide
Like warm half-complete Caesarean — the lost twin. I inhale in panic
And gurgle on wet blood.
This is a war of attrition, I realise at daybreak. Whoever wears down
First and turns to stone, me or the turgid belly of the man
Trying to strangle me. I stay up late thinking of excuses to explain
Why I stayed up late. I labour through each breath, dizzying effort.
Watch me. I am determined to outlast this without a scream.
My throat is open but my guts are not yet spilled.
I will step out, clean vertical skyscrapers with nothing but
Mirror for walls, sky for eyes, and you cannot climb onto anything.
And I will no longer bruise.
Updates 
Leave a comment