Hurt The Same
Stuttering heaves of prickling breaths
the wind I swallowed is laughing at me,
or is it the oxygen it boasts that mocks the lungs that crave
ammunition, cogent, to birth veristic life?
Whatever it is, I’m past caring,
yet the people who pretend they are stalk my feet.
Their mouths speak of giving up the search,
but they forget that I’m dead, not deaf, not blind;
mindful of the gazes tracing the lines of a corpse,
steps following steps on ceaseless trails
spears and crossbows in hand, hunting wild geese
quiet desperation louder than the forest we’re in
hunger crawling at the flesh beneath our skins
I know you’re tired, and I am too.
The chains tethering us to each other
some ingot, some forged
cage our necks, and seal our fates
they hurt the same, hurt the same.
So when we reach that cliff we knew was coming,
I’ll feign surprise at the “told you so”
slug the bile of regret and rue
spew the ire in irony,
and curse myself for the curse you’re in.
Empty apologies for empty promises.
You wish I’m sorry but I never am.
Not enough to turn back
and say goodbye to that buoyant dream,
the thought of which became a dream.
Not enough to make the leap to ebullient seas,
and drown in the red of your wounds
that taste black cherry with cuts of my own.
Soles glued to the fickle quicksand they call time,
there is the painting of swollen eyes tattooed on mine.
Paralyzed,
I try to enounce the pain I’m in
except my tongue becomes treacle,
and moulds words I can’t recognize, don’t mean to say,
but I know that they hurt the same, hurt the same.
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