the heavy hound
who thinks he’s a lap dog.
you come to me
with things in your teeth.
when I come to you like that
I never remember it.

what makes you different makes
you strange makes
you potentially dangerous.
this valley is dark,
this valley is uncanny,
this valley is overgrown
with things that can’t thrive in the light.

I don’t act like someone
whose come back from the dead.
but, no but, I just don’t.
I come close. kind of often
I come close. and closeness
is what started all this.

I keep my lips chapped
so I can dart my tounge out at any time
and make them sting. what makes you different
is probably some of what makes me different too.
we can table it for now. I get scared. I lose whatever
scraps of religion I have.

and if the lips heal
then my sharp dog canines can re open the wound
and if you see the bruises
please kindly don’t comment.
the story never changes. I never get better
at directing it where I want it to go.

the moon pulls on the ocean
in a way we can’t see, but can measure.
I tell you we should graph it,
figure out why you started feeling that way
and secretly, maybe,
how it can be undone.
I didn’t ask for this. but it exists now.
this happens over and over again.

I’m a nightmare
and there might be only one way
you’ll ever believe that.

so we’ll talk about sacrifice.
people love unecessary sacrifices,
myself included.
but it’s not really a sacrifice if it’s a trade.
it’s not really sacrifice if you enjoy it too much.
I could make you hurt, I could make you numb.
you could call it off
and we could be done.