if i must dwell on things unspoken

if i must dwell on things unspoken,
then i shall let my eyes do the speaking,
but i must close them,
lest others read me and find out
the keening of my outsouled shout,
and brand me mad.

and with closed eyes,
i shall read the universe,
and with my burning tears lash out
to the stars,
their mute witness to these wounds
i fling back to them,
self-righteous forges of fires eternal,
they have been my sentinels,
but i have never known them.

and i shall clench my eyes tighter
as i dwell deeper into the furthest recesses
of the mind,
deeper and deeper i dive,
and i emerge in confluence with the galaxies,
i shall shout until my eyes burn out,
i shall ask my questions,
and i shall red their cheeks in shame.

but what can i ask that shall not break my heart?
even as i think of the words
my own shame overcomes me,
and i repent the deed undone,
except i know,
that the intent has been recorded somewhere,
in the illions of possibilities that science provides,
surely one of me put that intent to deed,
and bled himself with words unspoken.

and these clear waters that leak
from the edges of my shut eyes,
shall deepen into crimson,
and thicken as the waters of nile
in moses’ day…

if i must dwell on things unspoken,
then let my bleeding eyes shut wide tell the tale,
and judge you me…
i who do not ask forgiveness
(not out of arrogance
but out of my own incapacity
to forgive myself),
i who would not cry for help
(believing no one would,
i who blaze in the bonfires of my vanities…

judge me,
and then…
either leave me in this darkness,
or help me open these eyes


an even number

i let the shredded petals go.
one by one,
plucked by my fingers,
i watch them as they spiral
to the ground.

one remains,
clinging to the pistil
held loosely in my hand.

i turn my eyes to you.
you simply smile and say,
“now you know my answer,”
before turning around
and away.

how roundabout,
your systematic process
of breaking a heart.