by Amanda Tan
Your lips play cruel at freeze frame
speed–so fast no one can see it,
not even me, except I’m lucky
enough to feel it, like a bullet
train crashing into my seatbelt.
I could blame depression
on you, but you’re so good
at being there if and only
when the line’s about to break.
Thank God her scarlet eyes
will never see me cry…
Unless God teaches lessons
even in death and she gets her
fill watching you watch me,
sick fox always about to prance.
I’d rather slit my legs and pull
hard until I was bloody and nothing
inside than be filled with you.
Because I dream red even
when starry birds kiss me
goodnight. I turn to red
walls and run into red hair,
fuel fire like a talentless artist,
searching for a world where she
doesn’t see or feel salty drops
even though the ocean is married
to salt wounds that never heal.