Emily says to me,
in a voice so perfect
and hushed, that the
world never paid her
the ears or hearts
she's due.
The very same
hunger and island
has shown through
our bones -
we are sickly little
skeletons; single-minded
pigeons pecking
until walls are shrunk,
magically, freeing us
just until we are
fluffed enough to
peck again.
I'm a heartbreaker for
the bad of ignorance,
and you're heartbroken for
the good of green eyes,
heavy words, and eternities
bound at your spiral.
It's the water drowning
my lungs. The polite
alien child of God,
I'm climbing through
apathy with a machete. I'm
walking back to the neutrality
that's stripped of condition,
where I can take Emily
to freedom.
