I press my face to the glass,
an oval cut of sky
to see what lies below.
The world is deceptive
a flat appearance laying its game-
trickery at its finest.
I press my face to the glass,
searching the dotted lights
in the night.
Scanning for life,
a notion of a living thing.
I close my eyes against its formation.
The night pierces my mind.
Open your eyes
said no one but the dark.
Look up
Said the desperate part of my soul.
The glass wants after
what I am looking for,
eyes riddled red
hungry to be free of guilt,
to be free
of me.
The stars look different up here.
The globe that holds our feet
couldn’t possibly conjure the same wonder.
Will they speak to me?
The stars?
Can they predict my ending?
My awakening?
The moment my bite of the tongue
will finally cut through to the bottom of it all.
I’m a shadow in a blackout, sumptuous and insidious.
My skin melds to the modest window,
warming its surface,
combating the coolness
that takes hold from the outside
-I cling to my whispers of a hunt.
A flutter of weakness cavorts through lashes,
gathering dampness.
Memories collect in a reel on repeat,
its film upsets itself
over and over and OVER
until I’m begging time
to let me climb into numbness.
Take me there.
Let me sink my claws into a delicious nothingness.
Eyes smear black
constellations point their handle down,
cup tipped and ready at the spill.
Is this what you’ve been searching for?
Through those eyes that discard their closing
-asks the glass, weary of my game.
Spill. Tine your soul over.
Let the burden and shame
hate and sorrow
flow in a sharp capsizing.
Maybe this is what I wanted
needed to accompany.
A night dotted with humanity
that aches and throbs in a foul breaking.
A soft dusk skylight opens itself to a woman still a girl,
barreling through the night, parting the clouds,
reaching for a resurrection,
seeking to grasp the courage she needs
to reverse a cold heart.