my blood escapes me in a waxy mess
to become the candles that I see by
it is a perfect kind of pain
an anger set in sanitized tubes
here is the experimentation
hit or miss in guess and check
I will be the blinded shattered horrid
when the pulsing of my cells
is lessened by your lips

so that it ceases to be a question

of the skin set loose from my teeth

and becomes a question

of the safety in my veins

I will find the answer to breath

in your quiet desperation

the silence changes the course of things

and a shoulder is bared

to break the light

it is harsh and cold as metal against flesh

like a paper cut

to the bloodied pieces of everything

I am no longer able to see straight

and waxed blood swallows and defines my experience.