he writes on me a story i live by, of lies & emptiness, of leaving & rage. he writes on me a story that twists my flesh into scars pale and meaningful. i trace the ridges and hear him lie to me again & again. he says, you cannot tell this story, this is my story, this is my story of you, this is how you will live, that is my story of your life, this is my present to you, these words to live by
& i am mad & i am lost & i am the crack in the wall that weakens the ceiling & i am the fissure that bursts the spleen & i am the choke hold around your neck & i am the fly in your coffee grown cold & i am the broken skin around your fingernail & i am the sudden wet sound of a knife leaving the body & i am you being undone & i am the story you still tell from the grave i’ve put you in