Come And Get Me Yourself

Just because someone tries to kill you and you make it out

doesn't mean that you don't die anyway.

within the sacrifice of my wounds

I have lost all trust in myself,

you want to know about my near death experience?

What it was like to bleed between metal.

You want to know about Mr. Gasoline

and his face aflame.

I've driven past your house

with arms raised-

that little white house

where your children live

(by the time I'm through with you

your kids won't be able to go to college.)

My nature

has been corrupted,

and I do not feel sorry for you:

1.) Your lane

2.) The turn lane

3.) My lane.

Three strikes and you're out!

Three strikes and you're devote!

Did you speak to Jesus in your lullabies?

Mr. Gasoline

when you asked forgiveness for the things that you have done to me;

for the crash,

and the slash

of debris

and glass.

Have you thanked him yet for life after death?

Yours

and not

mine.

Did you stroke the cheek

of Mr. Gasoline

God?

Have you forgiven him yet?

Because I never will.

My lullabies

left unanswered

and you

hunting me

like a wounded

spirit

as though you could catch me between your claws

God

and make me surrender.

I don't want to go with you God;

but you

with me.

Do you want to fuck me God?

I'm sure in your infinite space

you're grand

parapet

you've heard about what a good lay I am.

And Mr. Gasoline

with his bloody face,

his words

that my ears can't hear

between sirens

broken glass

(the glass shattered in front of me)

and the heartbeats

that stopped

out of fear.

Did you want to burry me

Mr. Gasoline

to make me

your unwilling bride

to call you husband

cold

where Jesus Christ plays match maker to marry us in heaven;

joined souls

between our combined death.

My chilling

tongue

between your heart and your ribs

making love to that part of you that is not scared.

Oh, husband mine

how you have collected me.

I would only fuck you in my black wedding dress

and then carry your bastard children

in my womb of spider webs

and worms;

black widows

my only company

in the cold grave that you dug with your childish death wishes.

I wouldn't care about those children.

Yours

and mine

Mr. Gasoline

these motherless poems of which I write to you.

But let me return to my deathbed

where

God is standing at my bedside

persnickety

and wild-eyed,

ready to snip my fingers off

one

by

one

because they speak the truth

when I'm lost in nightmares.

I can't imagine what my mother would have done

if the metal had swallowed me up

and you took

me

between your fingers

remembering

only

that it was your face

that I saw

last

before I let go.

But flesh in cold

and I rose to the occasion,

let me break free

of my metal coffin,

my eternal internment with you.

My lungs

free

of air

and you,

saying words that I will never hear.

But if I let it pass

and go back in

would you take me again?

Break me

shake me

fuck me

over

as you did once

between metal

and shattered glass?

But no

dear husband

with your face aflame

you will never take me down with you.

Had you taken me to heaven

I would have spit upon you.

Laced you up

to pain

and loss

because I was only nineteen

(I'm still just a little girl)

and you

somewhere between

1950

and now.

I would scream

like my father screams,

cast you out of me like a demon

my husband

and father to my bastard hate,

and I would tare your flesh from limb

to limb

until you're limp

from skin

to bone.

I'm not okay

dear husband

and I dream of my ashes

spread

across the Pacific Ocean

where I swam as a child;

but death

is precarious.

It takes you down when you least expect it!

It takes you like a dream

where alive

is only life

in nightmares.

Life in cruelty by the thousands.

Life in mirrors

where your bastard children of self torment

scream in my arms.

I

the mother

of discontent.

I

the mother

of rebirth

through tears.

I

the mother

of these ruined words.

I broke my neck

between your kiss

(head on metallic lip lock)

and

the bliss of God and his playmates

joking with me

about circumstance

and glee.

But you didn't get me Mr. Gasoline!

And God-

If you want me;

then come and get me yourself.