Giles Corey

She whispered it to me.

It was a kindness to her. An expensive indulgence. 

“I trust you.”

I see the devil

In hate-black windows

And silvered mirrors. 

It feels like

It should be easy

To feel worthy.

To her it was gentleness. 

But to me

To me it was Corey’s boulders

On my chest.

More weight. 

More weight.

And I can't draw breath

I don’t even know if I should.

Doing right by her isn’t hard.

Feeling righteous is. 

Even now, 

I crave the blood and pain.

My knuckles pierced by rage and plaster and

Facing away from her

To show her that I care.

That she’s safe with me. 

But her trust terrifies me.

How gentle can I be

When her origami skin folds away

And her spider-glass bones shudder

Against my pathetic, brutish touch?

Love is sex, and sex is terror.

And I know she 

Fears me.

Call it instinct, or

Biology, or prejudice.

But no man

Has ever made me feel

So small.