"don't you know there are things i never learned,"

"teach me how to read your sign language."
"teach me how to read your sign language."
my body is a sieve
the fleeting feelings leak from the open wounds.
wanting to be cauterized under a killing moon
punctures and perforations alleviating the ever-building pressures of anxiety and lament.
the blistering skin breaks as we reach our limits
the bones splinter and sever our inner tenderness
the marrow seeping out and clouding our lifeblood
i smile as i've come to realize that our mutual anesthetic has run out.
i've destroyed the mantra, liberated, dispelled.
discovered that what i had was not mine to lose.
this is the mural of heaven, painted with the colours of hell.
you were once my tourniquet, but now you've become my noose.
"let the child drown," she said as we were woefully desolate
eyes drawn to the sight of suffering
save the child, save its last breath
transforming a burden into a blessing