Requests

They asked me to show them love,
so I wrote a thousand words
on the night sky –
stars caught like smoke
in the air of a closed house. But,
it didn’t impress.

So I cried over fabricated people,
lives written in pages,
deaths captured in pictures
pained, with figurative tears.
It didn’t impress.

So I drew blood
out of the names of those
who tore my insides into empty spaces
and with it, painted the contours of my face.
It didn’t impress.

So I grabbed the walls of the world,
tore them down,
so everything was nothing
and the morning was hollow.
It didn’t impress.

So I carried the depth of my affections
for those who keep me quiet,
on my fingertips
and it dragged me to the floor.
It didn’t impress.

So, I carved out mornings, and evenings
of writing, into the flesh on my arms;
beating thoughts vibrating with a wonder
about the world, while the unknown sat in my wounds,
and, it was too much.

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