The anatomy of the creatures in me

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{archive from 2019; slightly edited, the closing stanza recently added}


I. The Coldness of Love


This love is a cold,

clinical creature—

void of fiery passion,

hearth of the heart, smothered

by duty and reason.

 

This heart atrophied

into hardened coal—

film over the eyes,

cloudy, coated in sludge.

 

Faith stays afloat

if I seal my anchor-mouth.

Hope casts shadows 

if I squint behind stained glass.

 

But I question everything.

I bow at the feet of Truth—

that is both my blessing

and my

unravelling.

II. The Curse of a Soul

 

This soul is a creature,

painful to bear,

a congealed, shriveled prune.

Charred and blackened, it shields itself

from even the light of the moon.

 

This soul has mutated

—day to dusk to night/mare—

scrawling curses in ancient script

across the lair of my ribs.

Chafing and bruising

the edges of my chest,

trembling tantrums, thrashing

endlessly with detest.

 

This soul—still a creature,

heavy to bear.

I am lightest when I’m furthest away—

when the soul swells to engulf the sky

and the spirit, with the leaves, does sway.

 

The soul finds a way,

away.

III. The Creature That Remains

 

And in the hollow caverns,

where the heart no longer thrums

and the soul forgets its weight,

a third creature slumbers, in wait:

witness of roots and ruin—

seizes a sliver to slither free

from all the creatures within—

me.




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