the first time i made the woods
black vines stretched
around my brain
squeezing
probing for a flight of stairs to fall
down

spiked with a serrated blade
fixed to the right mitt
plunging for punishment

shades were drawn down–
rejecting light and
wrapping round my torso:
wings for a
grounded flight
‍
dead eyes only pioneers for
my leftover frame,
                            angled harshly from
hamburgerphobia
‍

top lip
i'm so disappointed in you.
bottom lip
‍

tears leaping, pulsating to
the beat
of skull compression
‍
puffy at the vein
itchy
swollen by resolve

fading across the calendar
baring keloid strings
down my limb–
small terraces marking steps
                                          closer to
                              the veil

a gaze sloping out the
                          glass, foaming at
the fourth story

wondering how quickly bones break
and a face smashes into facelessness

and oxygen slaps the brain goodbye
‍

sullen lamplight makes the
blood flicker as it floods
the drum skin

dried and hardened into
black dots

hoping the woods become a
forest i have the pleasure of
burning down