poetry for the poetic: 5

CXLVI

i want the lights
to fall out of my eyes
like shards

i want to make myself bleed
with the way people
look at me

i want to rip out my voice
like it's a rusty
instrument

i want to carve his evil
into my skin
so that i always feel him

i want to detach my bones
from my tendons
and move around like an angel

i want to spit out my emptiness
and use the threads of it
to knit a black hole

i want to swallow the whole sun
and pretend like i
matter