I watch the rage distort your

paper, silky wrappings,

contorting your love into fire flickering

through your skin and eyes and mouth.

The back breaks and

the stomach turns as

the mouths dry up on words, which

could never say a damn thing we need.

The jagged start-stop movement of life –

all edges of sandpaper-wrapped boards –

kills me in a thousand and one cuts.

I want to shake, spread and shakes again –

limbs wrapped in saran wrap rules and laws –

I want to scream.

Who was I,

to become this?

Or who was I not,

to fail this hard?