Yael Olalde-Garcia

Hell

i’ll get on my knees.

and you’ll call me.

oh you-

with your thin little things.

i’ll shove you clean-

show you how doves get seen.

 

don’t worry—i licked them.

like the car collision

you left me out of.

 

 

couldn’t i collide with you?.

 

 

deers get more sympathy.

they shoot them—

point blank.

 

where’s your symphony?

 

you get on your knees and suck.

i get on my knees and pray to god.

i get on my knees and pray the meal

comes out whole.

 

i pray for regurgitation.

i pray for a smooth ride.

 

but god knows i like it rough—

like the vines on roses.

 

give me a stem and i’ll give you a knife.

give me roses, and i’ll use the stem

to stab you in it.

 

give me strength, lord.

it hurts,

but it also makes me whole.

 

i’m not dying,

i’m just losing shape.

 

i’ve won a lost cause.

you’ve lost your best gauze.

 

go dress up,

and clean the bile.

 

clean your fake teeth

and try to make it out the door.

 

you poor thing.

you just fainted.

 

point blank—

i just shoot.

 

limb by limb,

you fall.

 

convulsion and composure—

you make the floor

sweep itself.

 

you fall,

but not into hell.

 

that’s where stars like i fall.

 

you’ll go like all drunks.

and go dark.

you aren’t special enough

for a great heaven.

 

it’s a merciful hell.

 

we’ll both die—

don’t get me wrong—

 

you’re just not special

not for my hell.

 

fall,

and watch nothing

happen.