Why is blood such a good metaphor?
I don't know, I don't know-
Visionless, standing on a balcony
On a cool grey day, with the wash still drying
On the line, your hair cropped short, your
Hands gripping the railing like you blame
It for something- staring off at the
Windows across the alley, watching
Glimpses of strangers' lives flicker
Across postage-stamp space, never
Qualified or digested-
You don't know.
Okay then, okay. Maybe you'll know
When you're abed, and those tenement
Windows fade, when the whole world
Fades to cool grey nothing outside of
The boundaries of your consciousness
And your body, the ache of your muscles,
The clench, the ripple, the sigh-
Maybe you'll know when I stroke the inside
Of your arm repetitively,
Drawing out the conversation,
Making it into a more physical art.
Why do we desire what logically we condemn?
Why, why, as you stand by the balcony,
Fingernails digging into the pale skin of your wrist
Why do we find eroticism in violence?
It's strange- we've written books on it,
Peer-reviewed journal articles,
Adding a layer of intellect to something
That might be more easily explained
By a day watching things hunt and die
In the woods behind our childhood home.
Your eyes are grey now, clouded,
Blaming the world for daring
To be such a damned contradiction.
I like the idea of pain sometimes
You admit, leaning back against me,
My fingers resting in your collarbone
I tried to say I just liked control,
Then the fantasies ran away from me.
You bite your cheek in a way that
Makes you look ten years' old
They got darker. I didn't care.
I just liked the idea, alright?
And then I'd pull my fingers out
Of me, dripping onto the cement
Floor, like something from the deep
Sea, and I'd feel so much guilt
Because what kind of person
Was I
Really?
It's alright, I coo, kissing between your brows
You're still one of the kindest people I know.
You'd never hurt a fly. Maybe an ant,
But only because it came into our kitchen to
Eat the sugar there, and it's too small to
Rescue and put outside (you've tried).
You're still good, even if you've got a
Side that craves something nasty
Don't we all? Don't we all?
I don't know. You say.
I don't want it to happen.
Logically, logically I abhor it.
But when the darkness is a wet
Cloth around me, and my mind
Is unfettered by want, well then,
I'm glad no one else hears my
Thoughts. I'd lose so many friends,
So many lovers.
Maybe it's primal. Maybe you just want it
Because you've been told not to.
Maybe you're so good in every other way
You want to jerk off to fantasies of
Rape, pillage, cities burning-
A world falling to dust,
Where fathers fuck daughters fuck monsters
Fuck themselves, fuck machines,
Fuck it all, I don't know, but maybe
It's ok to be a contradiction, maybe
Just smile and keep on holding the
Railing.
Do the wash.
Hang it to dry.
Let me hold you, you're just a baby.
Humans are disgusting, you say mildly,
Biting at the edge of a nail
Some of us are just better at hiding it.
And some of us are fascinated with the concept
Of creeping closer and closer to horror,
Seeing how much we can take in
Before it makes us vomit.
Maybe that's why.
You remove your fingernails from your skin,
Leaving a row of half-moon impressions
That slowly pool with blood
And darling, it's perfect.
