bite the hand (that held you)

a bard falls in love,
writes ballads and poems
and plays those strings
until his fingers
fucking bleed

out in the desert,
the horse spooks and throws
a cowboy down into
the hot searing sand,
leaves him gasping and staring
up at an empty and blue sky

on the high, unforgiving seas,
a pirate falls overboard,
sinks like he was always supposed
to return to the ocean

and i watch myself in two
different mirrors, in a bathroom
that is not mine, cutting the cord
around my neck and holding
these two rings in my hand

these hands of mine do not shake
this time, and i briefly consider
swallowing the rings,
cracking my teeth on the cold steel
like so many empty promises

instead, i pack them away,
and do not look at them,
like these other things i will
not look at

because, while i may be
a hopeful romantic,
and a lovesick fucking fool,
i refuse to let these torches
i carry for others burn
me any longer

i will rebuild these walls,
brick by brick,
and plant rose bushes with thorns
to keep away that which does
not serve me anymore