Tetanus Shot to the Chest

it doesn’t help that i was lonely

or that you were dressed in satin

with water in your lungs.

something like a fairy tale

without anything worth going

to sleep for.

something like a bathroom stall

in a gas station in alabama

where too many people have fallen in love

with the numbers

written on the wall.

call me a damsel and i will

show you distress,

bare chest

flat breast

open rib cage key swallowed

too far down to be remembered

like a headline.

the silence has been

teaching me morse code

so i can understand what the neighbors

are saying when they lie

on their backs together.

dot dot dash broken headboard dash

child in the next room dot dash dot

dot dash.

rash decisions always looked best

on you.

naked pictures hidden in a bible

and you never took me to dinner.

only ever hunting.

we were only ever dancing.

i could never tell you where the

blood came from but

it didn’t stain your dress, just your

conscience.

beat me a new rhythm and i will

be your self-sacrifice that glows

sexy when you speak its name; we are

only practicing for the big time.

we are the big time but i

was never enough collateral

damage for you

to turn your head

to spit at.

tell me, will

you hold my hand when you sing me

to the sirens? always afraid of water,

of clean, of this thing too wet and sleek

to be dangerous. you jerk

awake in the night like a phantom

pain and i am sorry for chewing

off my arm.

you left it handcuffed to the radiator

too long and my teeth

were going numb. i lose you

in the deli counter

and never ask what it is you

serve me for dinner until you start

being punctual.

you bring your work home with you

and tell me i should

learn to remove safe words from

feathers. the guys at work are

starting to talk.

some days i wish

i was sorry for all the things

i plan on doing to you.

most days, i

do yoga.

#HS