Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones Vagabonds Vol. 3 | Page 69

3am: if your bones can hold 19000lbs, then i reach right beyond that, do
not hesitate to be the cause of your demise. with regards to what? between
our sheets one night, i am left stunned at your whispered admission that
my bones exist for your consumption / not worth more than the muscle
around them. left a hollow sun; all too early, i am your ruin and your dust
of magnolia petals.
ii. [i fill myself up with all that you are]
7am: without my asking, they say love will solve everything—will you
back from the dead and resurrect all that you know. “love is a place of
songbirds, where you go to die among succulents and a single meadow” ;
“i am not convinced” my initial response, content to keep a grey sky and
overcast. the dead do not leave you so suddenly / stick around to be your
storyteller / grow past the ambit of your expectations / result in something
far more brutal.
8am: one morning, you wake up as a deerthing and hug spindly legs to
your naked chest. my name was only ever an afterthought to you, deer-
legged or not. “there is something else” they lead us to believe/strip away
our doubts, fill the emptiness with falsities. with that in mind, i leave my
heart for you, lost interest or not (a sense of badness i thought i left when i
was younger and prone to frequent dalliances with any who loathed me).
9am: no matter how long later, i continue to unravel old dreams, grow to
monstrous proportions, wonder when my life will exist outside of a fawn’s
lingering memories. the moment love touched my lips, i had already torn
myself to pieces (gorged on infatuations/the boy you made yourself a
lover to). a last layer, a tight recollection of all that i had once been and
never so distorted as when i looked it straight on.
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