Lopsided Gowns

He sung quietly with his skin. Out. Out. In. Until. We let the window take us. Yellow sword bathed in blue. Cutting through nothing except the thinnest of orgasms.

We couldn't tell each other what the dark had heard. Lie again like disciples selling their saviors. Like wine. By the glass. Or by the bottle if you can afford it.

The only blood here is the cocktail you ordered.

I learned so much. Or I thought I had. Digging up those graves. Like sewing extra pockets into my jeans. To hold all this change.

I was willing to be wrong, but you didn't care. It had to be harder than that.

Pasting the bandage. To where wounds implore. To feel the tearing as they're ripped off. Barbed wires fencing every vein.

It's not like we were waiting for the sun to rise. Scholars in their ready seats. Taking meticulous notes on this apathy. Distilling logic from people. And humanity from textbooks. Trying to learn what can't be taught.

It's not as though this coma wasn't always there.

I was just the last one to wake up.

And I've imagined you there in every life I've pretended to have. More real than I want you to be.

Lopsided gowns adorning my ankles as I try to dance.

Like it's new. Or I don't know. Where it's going. Like the blood on my cheeks is still wet. And I believe I'll keep on waking up until I know a reason to stay awake.