Tell me
how to strip away
my skull
to get to the broken bits
within.
The twisted wires
that connect me to
the overwhelming want
for darkness,
for nonexistence,
for my flesh to peel off,
because I cannot survive
with just bone.
Tell me
there’s a strip of hope
I’m not seeing,
one strong enough
to cling to
and still feel out
in the black,
so I have something
to guide me back
before it all caves in
and I’m left in the abyss
of rocks.
But a part of me
yearns to give in.
It would be
so easy.
Let Father’s hand go,
fall, fall,
cease to dream,
exist as only
animals can,
by intention
and want
alone.
But I’ve seen the light.
I’ve dreamed the dream.
And once tasted
one cannot untaste.
The line to the light,
I see it now,
always knew it was there,
so hateful
in its thinness,
and heady
heartrending
sweetness.
I’ll climb.
I cannot fall.
I’ll walk through the dark
and not lurk
any longer.
Too many promise me
the end of the line,
and it would drag
too many down
to fall.
But still,
I ache.
It’s dark.
I’m cold.
Chilling
to the bone.
Peel it off.
Peel me free.
Make me light as skulls.
Author T.S. Lowe 