Wish I didn’t dwell where the wild things are,
wasn’t spellbound by their coats of matted hair and the
You say I shouldn’t wallow, but I haven’t been well.
Dog that broke its legs chasing rabbits and cars, fell in
a hole the world left ajar.
Wish I was rhythmically inclined, sweetheart;
enough to dance alongside the music you whisper
to a backdrop of lies, rather than
whistles I run
toward out of spite.
Never lose your light, little
Ricochet. Even if you misplace balance,
the angels on my shoulder say, your
demons aren’t gospel,
and can be a counterweight.
So tempt the fates and universal faults,
to dance with your monsters because these songs are
Ghost ships play organs but the crescendos
are dull like
the tides and their
pirates of bones,
a snake in one’s skull.
Hindsight would be twenty-twenty if not for the wool over
your eyes, sidestepping twenty-five to
life, a square dance brought
Wish I didn’t run with these wild things because
their company is indiscernible from yours, and worse,
whisking me away at
leaving you to mourn the music we
would have held eternal.
With those stars in your eyes
you see glamour in my dark heart,
you’re blinded by the glitter of night,
the purple circles –
sleepless nights and selfish battles.
You call me purgatory,
sin wearing labels, bearing crosses
from your past life.
I am an escape to you,
something at which to gawk
and stare at behind glass;
watching how I flit in darkness
a captivating menace.
But all I am, monster
of cliff-edges, bridges,
trains tracks, bathroom mirrors,
beds, forests and rivers,
I am not a beautiful beast –
do not fall in love with me.
I am the sweat in your pores,
the lines around your eyes,
the creak on your stairs,
damp in your walls,
the palpitations tingling
in every nerve ending.
I am blood.
I am skin.
I am a monster
because I am more human