Yorke

Relic

I come to you,
hands surrendered, open,
full of heavy wounds.

Oh the drips of precious life,
those you gather in your breath,

to nurse your blackened heart.


I say you are a civil servant,
You think I mean saviour.
Whatever you are,
it is a gateway,
a tightrope.
You cross unknown voids,
  air does not move you.

It erodes you faster because you do not sway.

I have the idea to show you my gums,
as if this means I pose no threat.
Not sidetracked by pearly whites,
you tell me I reek of failure.

I find us hidden under floorboards,
swimming in dark pools of unknown fish.


No longer ignorant.
I push you into lofts of darkness,
you confront the monsters alone.
I knew they were there,
claws,
scratching through my ceiling.

I sought this hell,
this
oblivion,
now I am here,
there is no place like home.

Here,
the windows only open
when our eyes close.