Bloodless Octaves

Don't I facilitate this anger. Erecting these liquid bridges. The hours so much my own that it seems no one else could exist.

The villain now a victim of the crimes once committed.

Are we not born old hoping to be young again. Awaken those soft petals. Stiffen these flaccid stems.

Turn the pillow over. Find the face beneath it. Soggy and creased.

It is alone we are born into and what we strive to escape.

Pain dots the sky in ample resonance. We're always listening, but seldom hear.

The hour bends graciously to let me remember what once I was. Soft soldier with an angry trigger. Green private with a grey, grey gun.

Roll up those sleeves. Dig deep into the silence until you're covered in.

We are so alone.

So helpless against ourselves.

The more we know the less we learn.

I am not yellow. Just a shade different. Come look. See.

The puce in my expression. The relief in my submission.

I know just what I am. Always have been.

Tiger without teeth. Jaws lacking fangs. Biting down so hard, but no flesh is ever broken.