In my constant cry for a mind’s cleaving
and the panting fear of my own corpse’s limbs
perhaps the journey of a beaten knight
with me as the cautiously erratic damsel
is an apparent blessing.
Perhaps he’d protect from what haunts
this frail and numbed girl
from the knight.
Perhaps he’d punish my blood for the spillage,
perhaps he’d raise this gap-toothed Lazarus
from the depths once more,
or vanquish the supposed saint, or extinguish the fire maidens or rid my mind of its untamed Ivy,
Alas you’d pursue beyond my calling and fear would extend
beyond the blade in my palm
to the one in yours.
Why am I such a fool to beg for protection
Why am I haunted by all the space I will live without you?
Why must this music of you
play on?
This call for a saviour
echoes through my past
and punctures my future.
And we’ve met before
and we’ve sure potential to meet again,
but when you last grasped my heart
my body and mind were left separate
The state of one traded for another.
Would you do this once more?
So I search and suffer
to be punished by your retrieval.
Must I forget my knight on his stallion of great strait?
Will I perish in your saving of me?
Perhaps we must toss aside
these theatric fixations
these fervent falsehood
these feverish ideas
of you.