what’s there to say?

by now all avenues exhausted, or maybe that’s just me.

this is you, but it’s not new. it’s not me. you.

am i losing a friend? do i care?

fear-choked lessons.

i am above this, words thrown around miserably, drawn-out

electricity, earth-dug dirt storage place for all my faculties.

kindness is no option for me. sentence drawn. place your name

on top of me. I’ll kill this business if you don’t get ahead of me.

drown me. notice your cage for what it is, or calculate, or else

a regular Lecter I’ll be. drawn in charcoal, force-fed police sketch

symmetry, eyes; ears; nose; plugging up my memories.

who said jaw-scratching head-tilting scumbags were my enemies?

caught a kestrel of my history, canary now caged.





Hannibal that I am. to you. not me. how dare you drop this mantle

on me. how dare I make mistakes with the curtains drawn. how dare

I eat. how much can you take? do you want me to see? I had fun,

this is not much to face. seven days or a year spent withering, bowing,

hunched-over, pouting, blue-faced and aching. yet a demon you make.

a demon you do not know. a demon drawn in baby blue, dressed in

penitent clothes. a demon, a boy, a canine, a mutt. he’ll do it

if you let him. seven days unseen, a year buried. he may sit in your

cage, but a dog, a cannibal, can understand the flaw. like that blue-eyed

devil behind bars. he sits in his cage, but he sees yours. you make the

world your cage. you draw it around you in cotton and silk, puffy eyes

and heavy clouds, no sun lancing through this rainy shroud.





look. I know. the realm in which you reside is fae. you are strung between

looms and blitzed by lights, phantasms of a truth. I get it.

there is a Wrong.

a Wrong has been done.

the clouds run red, thunder beckons, lightning pulses, looms pull.

you are taut. you are overrun with the charge of the storm.

a regular Lecter I am, a boy, a demon-mutt, a child, with

dark rings and wires, drawn out and tired. I twist and contort,

I bend to your cage. I am nothing. I am small.

I am tried as an adult.

I try and I try and I try. I am spent. I have resigned.

the locus of my life is in your hands.

i have no recourse.

i have no say.

i am drawn shut.





the place that contains the list of the containers of words