Mania

I would not hold the moonlight in my chest,                               caged away. I never allowed the prince to kiss me. I never saw the prince until the skies were lavender and the moonlight tried to pry me open with fingers in the shape of spoons, until the                         sharks rose from the foamwater to place their teeth in my hands like an offering to a God / I am God / I am God? / I don’t know how to be God. I would not press the hammer against the loving skull, I didn’t hold my wrist over the flames until the burning essence stood up and danced with me slow around the remains of my house, dipping me, my red hair stained with ash. I know what’s happening to me, the death-sick moth told me, its head in the shape of the color of my face and the faint buzz of its wings an orchestra in my bedroom. The moth only has two purposes: to absorb the light, and then die. Like the moth I am tangible, like the light I am impervious. I will take your sword and eat it & I don’t know how to be God but I know how to use my mouth—I don’t see a difference. I can see the future but the future cannot see me. I swallowed the concept of valiance and now I am fragmented across life’s unholy reality; my arm washed up on the sand, my torn-out kidneys hanging from a telephone line, my mind s/c/a/t/t/e/r/ed

and did I lock the front door, to stop the invading demons?  Did I? I‘ll check. I’ll check. I’ll check. I’ll check. I’ll check. I’ll check. I’ll check. I’ll check. I’ll check. Time itself melts into my red-stained wine glass. I couldn’t keep the food down,                     caged away so my eyes are darkening and the night is bruise-colored. I can’t press on the nightfall to make it hurt, I cannot stop the healing of the space-ships in my body like blood vessels, forming the grid of my crafted presence on this Earth. The spots where the light seeps out from between my fingers are the cracks in the lines of morality. I can heal you and I can slaughter you, like God. Am I God? I am God. I can leap from mountains and raise myself into Heaven. When I breathe, my breath turns golden and shreds itself over the glass I am using to carve my angel wings and when I cough the birds escape with my holy voice. The window is the only open aspect of this house and my soul is spilling out of it, flooding down the streets and back into the ocean. Goodnight, goodbye, so sorry for your loss.