Page 30

Lectures

Your tongue spits out words like nails

that penetrate every cell of my skin.

They force themselves through with anguish
and I can't understand how they mean so little
and yet so much at the same time.

You speak with your hands waving in maniacal fashion,

they whip around with a force that cracks the ground, cracks open wounds.
The air you exhale leaves behind a bitter aftertaste of salt
that's now sinking into the threshold you left in between my heart
and my chest.

Sometimes I think this was your plan all along,

to break me down bit by bit with cold shoulders
and mutterings of indifference
and screams of silence.

I once knew of a time when I admired the rhythm that flowed

from the depths of your throat to the outline of your lips
and beyond.
I was foolish to ever believe it was music meant only for me to hear.
I realize now that the sounds you project are really just sirens
warning me of the impending dangers yet to come.

I wait and listen for the noise to catch up to where I've been

so at least I can be aware of when to run.