The Frozen Pond

He could be so loud. Occasionally it made me listen. More often it just seemed pompous.

Fatted calf with the blade at its chin. So many sermons on not wanting to die. But he never could see how hungry the world is.

The hour sold me short. I had so much more I wanted to do with it. Us. Then. Him. No plans, but so many destinations.

What wounds there were quickly healed. His blade was sharp, but he didn't press too hard.

I sometimes wish he had cut deeper. Or at least tried to. What is skin without some ugly scars. Just draperies on hollow bones. Windows that never open.

For once I didn't want to be pretty. Wasn't wishing that I could. For once ugly was comfortable.

Beautiful even.

Of all the ways there are to hate yourself, this is the one I like best.

Bitten tongues chasing words too agile. Stiff shadows miming the bodies that frequent them.

I wanted. I wondered what it must be like to know that it didn't have to hurt to feel something.

Guess I'll never know.