a metal plate inside me, ever since—
It wants an escape and so do I
— trapped, we're both trapped.
They told me it wouldn’t come out without melting
So I collected some sticks, set fire to my lungs
—the smoke came out of my lips
in shrill screams— I’m a forest
And my blood, a scared squirrel;
runs up and down my depths
with a blazed tail. burns what it licks
—the bottom of my muddy grounds
trees trunks, branches, leaves and nails.
the bridge between my brain and I
and everything shuts down—all lights go off
in the dark, only fire remains
no one dances where she does, no one lives where—
and I turn the metal sheet over
and over the flames
It heats up, it cooks and turns red
its edges kiss my flesh and he winces
— melts—
dripping into the fire—
gone—
and I turn the metal sheet over and over
It blushes but never bleeds
dry like dead leaves, but never dies
doesn’t melt, nor soften,
doesn’t even breathe—
and the flesh keeps dripping and then rebuilds
and the dripping rebuilds the fire
and the fire rebuilds the smoke—
but the metal never melts
the smoke creeps out and I let it
Someone tells me to stop the noise
but I say I never said a word—
And they tell me to stop the noise
But I say I never said a world—
and the smoke comes out and I let it
and they tell me to stop the noise
but I don’t say I never said a word.
and the metal never melts, the fire never stops
and I never say a wo—
Someone clamps my mouth shut and I fall asleep,
turning the metal over the flames
turning—still turning.
Still turning.
Turn
ing.
and all in me screams.
Turning over
and over
and
over.
and
—ov
er.
and all in me screams.
all. in. me. screams.
