I've been the only one

Sometimes, I want to die in the most violent offenses, it makes lightning turn to sand. I listen to the thunder how it slithers inside my skull, wraps the electricrity around my body with its warm hug and I feel destined to die alone, in this single guilded golden cage its metal not left to be desired.

There's always an escape route. I look from within it. It's loud and yearning, a scratch you can't cleave off the bone. I hear the slumber noises of breathing and sleepless nights, it rides itself in tempo. Just playing its serenade. It screams in the middle of storms where my heart belongs, and the feelings far.

I slip between the cracks, at most points, unnoticed. This naked creature, all hailing to elusive dreams of no one, because that's what invisiblity does best. I am never loved to be seen only to be known as a thing, this thing that has to be kept for eyes of others. Their fancies, their fantasy, l am to be their calamity.

Suicidal ideation comes in droves. Its lives somewhere uncontrolled. I don't want to be noticed, only felt. My tendrils curl around the fingers, a branch with green leaves, they pretend to be tender. Alone is my first, second, and last name. We're apart of each other, one can't live without.

I dream, its life ignites the collections of my former years, the current, the future. A future I barely belong in. Half way in. Half way out. I slip farther farther out the cracks, through the entryway where shadows never stop. I fall downward into its soil where the worms and bugs and creatures underneath thrive. We grow different. We speak to each other as if we're the birds and the bees. I let you eat me. Entrails on the platter. It scatters forever.

Sweetheart, we used to speak the same language. There's always another that tries to tear me apart. Prop me up on display, my persona is delicious. Devour me, let my skin melt into the room. A purpose without prose.

Sitting on my throne, I wait. For letters that never come. For words that are never told. Talked about. Planned about. Roundabouts. Collections. Years pass, masters of sound. Carve me down the middle. Exposed. I disappear like vapor.

I want them to yell,

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Make the pain make sense.

Make it real.

Make it so I can exist.

This creature, this creature of the flesh.