“Cold Savior”

I sometimes stand in the cold,

bare feet kissing the stony ground,

and dip my hand into memories

pooled in the bottoms of your eyes.

--

Sometimes we are selfish,

and we hide behind our laughter,

passing lies between us with solemn merriment,

and we watch the earth slip under our shoes.

--

I could pretend that I like roses,

and that you are a romantic.

I would say this when the silence pressed

our bodies together and then draw back,

laughing.

--

There are knives hanging from willow trees,

dainty and pure, waiting to taste blood.

I am cross-legged and petulant,

watching the sun light trees on fire,

holding the searing metal in my gentle hands,

feeling love and rage for the first time.

I bloody myself flesh with goodness

again and again, until you find me,

alone

cross-legged, petulant, and dying,

hoping against hope you will save me,

kiss me, love me, see me

beneath the willows, weeping, weeping

for you,

sorry that I hurt you,

hurt you with my sorrow,

but needing you to cry,

so maybe I could make it better-

hoping against hope that I can save you,

so you can save me.